


other suns

by tomorrowsrain



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Action/Adventure, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Chronic Illness, Class Issues, Compromise, Crew as Family, Cross my heart, Difficult Decisions, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Fic, No Major Character Death, Peril, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Some Humor, Survival, no one in the tags is dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2018-12-04 21:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11563461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomorrowsrain/pseuds/tomorrowsrain
Summary: The year is 2798. Humanity has expanded its reach deep into the stars, establishing colonies on other worlds. In the aftermath of a bitter war between Earth and several of the Galaxy's more established alien races, the International Space Agency has launched the massive Exploration Initiative to chart the far-flung corners of the Galaxy.On a mission to one of these distant, mysterious planets, the crew of ISA ship theDelawareis about to get a hell of a lot more than they bargained for.(Or the one where they're all scientist space explorers, Lafayette is a literal alien, Burr is a robot, and Alexander Hamilton is experiencing one of the worst months of his life.Which, you know, is really saying something.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, new fandom! I'm very nervous about this, but it should certainly be an adventure. I've wanted to write a sci-fi story for ages, since I've always been a great lover of Star Wars, Star Trek, and the Mass Effect series. You will probably, definitely be able to see the influences of those universes on this story. 
> 
> There will be quite a bit of world-building involved, so if anyone wants visual aids for things I've started an inspiration tag on tumblr that I will link at the end of the chapter. Also, everyone here is modeled after the OBC, with the exception of Peggy. For her I'm using Samantha Marie Ware from the Chicago production, due to the pairing listed above. ;) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

 

_“Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.”  
―  **Carl Sagan**_

 

 PART ONE: THE LAUNCH

_ _ 

 

_“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure you’ve heard the news. The United Nations has signed an armistice with the leaders of Xu and Kirzaka. The war is officially over. Which means that we must now start to turn our eyes from the ashes of conflict to the horizon of a new and exciting future. I make no allusions that peace is going to be easy or that many challenges do not face us in regaining what we have lost. We cannot replace the lives that were cut short, or the colonies that have been destroyed, but once again the stars are calling to us._

_“There are hundreds of far-flung corners of our galaxy waiting to be uncovered. Within them could lurk vast resources, potential homes for our people, and a wealth of knowledge that will continue to improve our way of life. Which is why, with the approval of the Galactic Trade Alliance and the direct cooperation of Kirzaka, the International Space Agency is pleased to announce the launch of the Exploration Initiative._

_“Imagine it, ladies and gentlemen: twenty new space stations, each equipped with a small fleet of research ships and staffed with our brightest and most promising minds. Each will be given a ten-year charter and a new region of the galaxy to map. We began construction for this potential endeavor several years ago and, though progress was stalled by the war, the first of the stations should be ready to launch within the next two years. Our goal is to have all twenty in space by 2800._

_“The possibilities are endless. The future awaits and, like we have always done, we will endure and we will seize it with both hands. This is only the beginning.”_  

 _-_ **Excerpt of a speech given at ISA headquarters by president Naoki Okumura, 2790**

****

****

**_ _**

**Station 13, 2798**

“Hamilton, where the _hell_ do you think you’re going?”

Alex—in the middle of frantically stuffing his tablet, empty thermos, and a random assortment of pens into his satchel—doesn’t dignify Adams’ furious question with a response.

 _“Hamilton,”_ Adams snaps, brow furrowed and arms crossed over his chest. He looks seconds away from actually tapping his foot on the floor.

“I have to go,” Alex says, sparing a glance to the clock on the screen of his monitor. Shit, he’s late. “Now.”

“You’re still in the middle of your shift!”

Alex looks around at the cavernous reports division and the heads peeking over the tops of the seemingly endless cubicles like curious rodents, then back to Adams—so red in the face he’s starting to comically resemble a tomato.

“Considering that you’ve sent back every single report I’ve submitted to you in the past two hours and demanded that I redo it, I think me leaving will actually save us both some time, don’t you?”

Adams’ mouth drops open for a moment before he starts to splutter like a kettle close to boiling. Alex seizes the opportunity to make a run for it—boots slipping on the polished floor as he navigates the maze of cubicles standing between him and the door on the far side of the room. Everything has gone deadly quiet, not even the faint clack of keys to be heard, and he gets brief glimpses of the shocked faces of his colleagues, illuminated pale blue by the glow of their computer screens, as he rushes past.

Adams recovers himself just as Alex reaches the door. “Hamilton, get back here this _instant_ or I swear that I’ll— _”_

The door slamming shut behind him, cutting Adams off mid-rant, is one of the more satisfying sounds Alex has heard in the past month, but he doesn’t have time to savor it. If he wants to make it all the way up to Angelica’s office before launch, he’s going to have to run.

He slings his satchel over his shoulder, mapping out the fastest route in his head, and does just that.

 

_ _

 

Station 13, like all of the space stations launched for the Exploration Initiative, is the size of a small city, designed to comfortably house a staff of about ten thousand, including ten research crews—each with a ship of their own—and a unit from the Galactic Armed Forces, as well as a small diplomatic corps for potential first contact missions. The reports division is on Level Four—the second to last level, right above the hangar bays, engineering, and maintenance; tucked away in a shadowy corner that Adams can call his dominion.

Angelica, as the station head, has an expansive office on the top level, along with the rest of the station high command and the research ship captains. Which means there are two levels standing in his way and elevators that tend to be slower than mud. He cuts through the cafeteria on Level Three and takes the back, winding stairs up to Level Two instead, skirting through the diplomatic offices and ignoring the irritated glares he receives at the disruption, especially when he knocks a stack of tablets off the corner of a desk.

He shouts an apology over his shoulder and keeps running.  

Almost there, almost there…

Three flights of stairs and he’s on Level One. He nearly collides with several officers coming out of the stairwell, but they don’t try to stop him. Just mutter about “cadets” under their breath like he doesn’t a hold a rank and hasn’t been part of this station since its launch two years ago.

Granted, his rank doesn’t mean much right now, but still. Irritating.

And not to be dwelt on, because there’s Angelica’s office. He pauses outside to get his breathing under control and catches a glimpse of himself in the window next to the wide double doors. He looks a mess and very much like he's just frantically run across half the space station. With a grimace, he hurriedly reties his hair into a neater bun and straightens the sleeves of his black uniform, trying to get the wrinkles out from where he’s had them rolled up. The final result is far from perfect, but Angelica has seen him in much worse states than this.

He shoves open the doors, mentally sighing in relief that Angelica is alone at her desk and he’s not interrupting a meeting—easier to argue his case if he’s not starting off with Angelica furious at him, though it’s still going to be an uphill battle. The Incident (which is to never be spoken of again) that took place on the last mission was one of the most regrettable events of his life.

Never has he so desperately wanted to rewind time and fix his mistakes.

“Alexander,” she says flatly, setting down the small report tablet she’d been scrolling through.

Still not a great start, but he can work with it.

“Angelica,” he greets, stopping in front of her desk. “I—”

“No,” she cuts him off.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask,” he argues.

She arches an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Yes, I do and the answer is _no_.”

“You can’t be serious,” he blurts, trying to fight down the flame of outrage rising in his chest.

There goes Angelica’s other eyebrow. She stands up—palms flat against her desk. He can’t help but straighten his shoulders in response. “Oh, I’m _very_ serious. Since you seem to have forgotten, let me remind you that the terms laid out by the probationary council were that you must sit out _two_ planet-side missions. _Two,_ Alexander.”

“But those terms were completely unreasonable! I can’t sit out planet-side missions—I’m the best botanist on the crew and they need me there.”

“They have another botanist.”

“Charles Lee? That man can’t tell the difference between a lily and a daylily, let alone properly identify and catalogue alien flora—”

“He graduated from the same academy you did and has the same credentials.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t make him _good.”_

Angelica blows out a sharp, exasperated breath and Alex wonders if getting on his knees and outright groveling would help. It might at least amuse her.

“Do you know how many asses I had to kiss to keep you from getting discharged? I can’t go against the council’s decision.”

“ _Please,_ Angelica,” he says, leaning against the desk, too. The desperation churning in his stomach makes it easy to widen his eyes and school his face into the best kicked puppy look he can muster. “This is my crew. I can’t sit here on this station for a whole three months without them.”

“I’m sure you’d survive,” Angelica says dryly, not moved at all.

“Probably not, actually. I’ll drive Adams to homicide long before then.”

Angelica huffs what he’s hopefully going to call a laugh and shakes her head. “Speaking of that, shouldn’t you be _working_ right now?”

“Yes, I should be getting ready for launch.”

“Alexander…” she comes out from behind her desk, pacing like she always does when she gets too frustrated to stand still.

“Besides,” Alex presses, turning in a circle to keep up with her, “don’t you think Eliza would be upset if you kept us apart for three months?”

It was the wrong thing to say. He can tell as soon as she freezes in the middle of the room, and he curses his stupid mouth when she whirls around and points a finger at him, expression thunderous. “Don’t you _dare_ bring my sister into this.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he backpedals, waving his hands and wincing hard. “I shouldn’t have. But _please,_ Angelica. I’ll be a model member of the crew, I’ll keep my mouth shut…” Angelica scoffs. “…and I’ll follow orders, I promise. Just please don’t keep me grounded.”

He again contemplates dropping to his knees—doesn’t want to face weeks of taking meals alone or going to bed without Eliza in his arms or not seeing any of the faces he’s come to care about so much it honestly scares him. Can’t fathom walking back down to the reports division and serving another three months under Adams’ brand of eccentric autocracy. Angelica is staring at the floor, a contemplative expression on her face, so he holds his breath—clenches his teeth against the torrent of words trying to escape his mouth and waits.

The silence has turned thick and agonizing when she finally sighs and shakes her head. “You will serve under Lee without any complaints.”

Oh yes. _YES._

“I’m not giving you your old rank back, you’ll remain an ensign,” Angelica continues, ticking off her fingers. “You will be on your absolute best behavior and you will keep your mouth _shut_ and you will follow orders to the _letter,_ Alexander, or so help me God, I will _chain you_ to a desk in the reports division for the next _eight years_.”

He swallows down the excited shout that’s surging up his throat and nods enthusiastically. “Yes, yes, of course I will, I swear.”

“Then go,” Angelica says with a wave of her hand. “You’d better hurry.”

He nods, grinning ear to ear, and turns to start his sprint to his quarters and then down to the loading docks on the lowest level.

“You’d better not make me regret this!” Angelica shouts when he reaches the end of the hall, leaning out of her office.

He blows her an enthusiastic kiss and takes the stairs two at a time, adrenaline surging through him.

A second chance—he has a second chance, and he’s not going to waste it.

 

_ _

 

Washington is waiting for him in front of the _Delaware,_ arms behind his back and expression stern, except for the smile Alex can see lurking in the corner of his mouth.

“I hear you’ll be joining us,” he says as Alex stutters to a stop in front of him with his hands braced on his knees and his chest heaving.

He ran all the way to his quarters to retrieve the bag he’d preemptively packed, just in case, and then sprinted faster than he thinks he ever has in his life to make it to the ship before it left without him. But he thinks he probably shouldn’t have worried so much. Washington has clearly delayed launch for him—if the impatient looking engineering crew hovering nearby is any indicator.

“Yes,” he pants out, straightening so that he can salute. “Reporting for duty, sir.”

Washington nods at the ramp leading up into the ship. “Get to quarters and then your bridge station, we’re behind schedule.”

It’s hard to tell if Washington is still mad about the Incident. He took Alex’s side during the probationary hearing, but Alex always thought it was more from a sense of duty to his second-in-command than any kind of kinship. And Washington hadn’t spoken to him again after that—wouldn’t even look at him when they stepped into the hallway together after the hearing adjourned…

 _Model crew member,_ he reminds himself as he scrambles up the ramp. _You can earn your place back._

It might take time, but he’s clawed his way up from much lower places than this.

“Well, well, well,” a voice drawls as soon as he enters the cool air of the ship. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Thomas Jefferson is leaning up against the wall, the picture of casualness, and wearing a familiar, irritating smirk. A month apart and Alex’s desire to punch him in his stupid face hasn’t lessened any. Though at the same time there’s a tiny, miniscule part of him that’s almost _glad_ to see Jefferson again, which is frankly horrifying.

He’s got a retort ready (probably something about how ridiculous Jefferson’s hair continues to look when paired with the straight cut of their standard uniforms) when he remembers, abruptly, that Jefferson is Washington’s new second-in-command and therefore his superior officer.

Fuck.

He lets out a long breath and says through only slightly gritted teeth, “sir.”

It’s almost worth it for the shock that flickers briefly across Jefferson’s face. “Well, looks like Adams forced some manners into you, after all. It’s a miracle.”

_Keep your mouth shut, Hamilton._

He stares at the floor and focuses on not curling his hands into fists at his side. “I need to get to my quarters.”

It feels weird, not engaging with Jefferson. Wrong, somehow. And Jefferson frowns like he’s off-balance, too, before nodding his head toward the lift. “You’re in the main quarters on Level Two. We launch in ten minutes. Be at your station.”

He nods and rushes past Jefferson before the awkwardness can continue. It’s probably going to be a long three months, but at least he’s on the ship. Thank god for that. Anything, _anything_ is better than the reports division.

He presses the button for the lift and tries not to fidget while he waits, aware of the clock ticking down and how bad it will look if he’s late to the bridge.

The doors finally open with a ding and Alex finds himself face-to-chest with Lafayette. At nearly seven feet tall, the Savran towers over the rest of the human crew. And if the height wasn’t enough, Savrans are one of the more intimidating alien races Alex has ever met: thin, bony bodies with long limbs; two thick, clawed fingers and an opposable thumb on each hand; a crest of horns on their heads; luminous blue eyes that always seem to glow; a concave nose that gives their faces a slightly skull-like appearance; and sharp teeth. They remind Alex of dinosaurs with their thick, reptilian-like skin. Lafayette’s is tan around his face and slowly deepens into a dark blue around his horns, the back of his head, and his neck and shoulders.

During the war, Savrans were terrifying giants that stalked his nightmares, but. Well. Two years with Lafayette on their crew—one of the first official alien liaisons to the Exploration Initiative—has soothed his fears somewhat.

Two reasons for this:

One, Lafayette is kind and effusive and radiates this … _brightness_ that’s impossible to dislike or be repulsed by. Plus he’s _smart._ Probably smarter than Alex will ever be, but he’s going to chalk that up to alien brain capacity and the fact that Savrans regularly live to be over five hundred years old. He’s pretty sure Lafayette himself is at least one hundred and fifty but thinks it might be impolite to ask, so hasn’t.

And two—

“Alexander, what a surprise to see you, _mon ami._ ”

—the accent. According to Lafayette, he decided to learn French first because it sounded the prettiest—so far removed from his own people’s harsh, guttural language—and so when he got his voice box fitted to allow him human speech, he programmed it accordingly.

(That’s where the name came from, too, since his own is unpronounceable in any human language. Alex spent three hours over dinner once listening to Lafayette extoll the virtues and accomplishments of the ancient _Maison La Fayette—_ soldiers and authors and priests, all of whom would have a earned a coveted place in his people’s memorial halls, instead of being lost to history because humans are so “small and forgetful.”)

And the thing is, it should be ridiculous: a seven-foot-tall dinosaur alien with a _French accent,_ but Alex can’t imagine Lafayette any other way.

“Angelica cleared me for duty,” he says, tilting his head back so he can smile up at Lafayette’s face.

Lafayette grins, all glinting teeth, and puts a large hand on Alex’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Well, I am glad you’re aboard.”

“Me too.” He edges past Lafayette into the elevator. “I need to run, though. Bridge in six minutes.”

Lafayette nods and waves as the door slides shut. Alone in the elevator, Alex leans against the wall and closes his eyes, grateful that at least it’s a short journey down to Level Two. He and cramped spaces have never gotten along.

A few seconds later, the elevator doors open onto Level Two and he hurries down the white-walled corridor, hitting the button on the door to crew quarters at the end. As an ensign, he no longer gets a private room, but the main area is still nicer than anything he had before joining the ISA: both sides lined with bunk beds—tall, personal lockers between them and divider walls separating each set of two into a little private area. More lockers at the foot of the beds and a lot of open space in the middle for a table, plus a few computer stations in one corner.

Alex throws his bag on the lower bunk closest to the door, figuring that someone will tell him to move if it’s already occupied. Normally, he would be heading to the labs on Level Three next for a pre-launch check through, but he’s got three minutes to make it back to the bridge. He’ll just have to assume that Lee did it, as much as it pains him.

He reties his hair again and makes one last, pointless attempt at smoothing the wrinkles out of his uniform sleeves. Then it’s back in the elevator with his eyes squeezed shut until it spits him out onto the bridge.

He pauses there, suddenly struck with the realization that his old post of First Officer is now occupied by Jefferson. But … Washington told him to report to the bridge so he must have a new assignment.

Jefferson’s old one? Or just stand in a corner and watch someone else do the job he worked so hard to get?

 _Washington isn’t that cruel,_ he berates himself.

“Hamilton,” says the man himself, startling him. He looks up to find Washington watching him from his usual spot by the large, circular galaxy map in the center of the main bridge area. “Communications station, please.”

Jefferson’s old post, then. He appreciates the acknowledgment of his linguistic skills, if nothing else. With a nod to Washington, he takes his place along the wall. From here he can see down the short corridor into the cockpit—Peggy’s riotous hair peeking over the top of the pilot’s chair and John’s hunched shoulders as he plugs coordinates into the ship’s computer.

It definitely looks like Peggy is watching him like a hawk, judging from the tilt of her chair in his direction. John’s a decent navigator (though a better zoologist), but not many people can live up to Peggy Schuyler’s standards when it comes to running a ship.

Alex shakes his head, uncertain of what to do with the fondness filling his chest, and fixes his headset on.

His ears are immediately flooded with chatter from other parts of the ship: engineering talking to the cargo bay, the labs running through their checks, Maria in the med bay doing supply inventory with Hercules out on the loading docks. He soaks it all in for a moment. After a month in the oppressive quiet of reporting, hearing the life flowing through the _Delaware_ is like discovering water in a desert.

“Run checks,” Washington orders and Alex flips the switch next to his console to turn his mic on.

“Confirm set for launch,” he says and waits.

“Cargo set,” Hercules answers.

“Med bay set,” Maria says.

“Labs set,” Lafayette chimes in.

“Engineering set,” Eliza says, with a note of surprise coloring her voice. Angelica must not have told her about the change in plans.

No time to talk further now, though.

“Bridge confirms.” He spins his chair to face Washington. “We’re go for launch.”

Washington nods and calls up the corridor to Peggy. “Take us out of here, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye, captain!” Peggy hollers back and Alex ducks his head to hide his smile at the exasperated look on Washington’s face.

Peggy has also never been one for proper protocol, though that can probably be said of the whole crew.

The ship’s engines rumble to life like waking giants and the floor hums beneath Alexander’s boots. He loves this part: feeling the _Delaware_ come alive around him, knowing that they’re about to launch into the unknown. It’s an adrenaline rush not unlike the kind you get when you stand at the edge of a cliff, toes almost over the precipice, and wonder what it would be like to jump off into open air.

Peggy’s hands move in a blur, guiding the ship through the undocking procedure and then positioning it above of the station’s massive hangar doors.

They pause there for a beat, two, three while doors cycle open and then a voice crackles over his headset. “You’re clear, _Delaware.”_

“Copy that,” Peggy answers and the ship descends rapidly into open space.

They drift away from the station, getting into position.

“Coordinates set,” John says.

At Washington’s nod, Alex speaks into his headset. “Engineering activate the core.”

“Core activated,” Eliza replies a moment later. “Ready for FTL.”

“Copy that. Ready for FTL, captain.”

“Good. Make the jump, lieutenant.”

He can hear Peggy’s grin in her voice when she says, “roger. Hold onto your seats.”

The ship shudders and lurches and outside the viewport, the stars blur.

 

_ _

 

They have three weeks before they arrive at their designated planet—the furthest from the station they’ve ever gone—and so once the ship has settled into FTL, the crew disperse to other stations.

Alex sucks up his pride and reports to Lee in the lab, enduring the idiot’s infuriating preening at suddenly being the superior officer until he has to choose between bowing out somewhat gracefully or eviscerating Lee with a nearby utility knife. To calm himself down, he takes the lift to engineering and wraps his arms around Eliza.

She laughs and hugs him back tightly, swaying them the way she sometimes does when she’s emotional. He still hasn’t worked up the courage to tell her how soothing he finds it.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” she exclaims when she pulls back—her smile stretching her cheeks. She has a stain smeared across her temple that he tries not to find endearing and fails miserably.

“Me neither,” he says.

“How did you manage to convince Angelica?”

“Lots of groveling.”

Eliza laughs again and kisses him. He melts into it easily. It feels like it’s been ages since they’ve seen each other, between her prepping for this mission and him stuck beneath Adams’ boot, and he’s missed the feel of her mouth against his—the curl of her slender fingers at his hips.

They’ve been dating for over two years now, since right after their graduation from the ISA Academy, and he loves her more than he thought he would be able to love someone again. It terrifies him, honestly. A _lot._ But he tries not to dwell too much on it—on all the ways he could lose her, on the cold touch of death he can still sometimes feel at the back of his neck, on the shadows lurking in his dreams that he doesn’t know how to put into words she would understand.

One step at a time.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says now, dropping a kiss to his shoulder. “Ship wouldn’t be the same without you.”

He hums in agreement. “I’m glad, too. I wouldn’t have survived three months working for Adams.”

She snorts. “Definitely not.”

A shout from somewhere behind them, and Eliza sighs. “I have to go. But I’ll see you tonight?”

As head of engineering, Eliza has her own quarters on Level Four where he’s spent more nights than he hopes anyone finds out about. They’re not breaking any regulations, but Washington has an unspoken rule about fraternization being too obvious.

Basically: fuck around with anyone you want, but please, for the sake of everyone, keep it discrete. (And if you break up, spare the rest of the crew the drama—for the love of god.)

“Sure,” he says and leaves her with one last kiss.

He really should stop in the med bay, but he doesn’t feel like a listening to a lecture or having scanners waved in his face at the moment, so he heads to zoology instead to bug John.

Lafayette is there, as well—somehow folded into a chair that is way too small for his lanky body.

“So, you pulled off a miracle, after all,” John says and shoves an empty petri dish and a cleaning cloth at him. “Great. I owe Hercules thirty bucks now, you know.”

“You bet against me?” Alex asks, taking the supplies.

“No, I bet _for_ Angelica. Which was supposed to be the _safe_ bet. Just how much groveling was involved there?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Alex huffs and takes the seat opposite John.

“So a lot,” Lafayette concludes brightly.

“I hate you both.”

Lafayette shakes his head. “I never understand why humans insist on saying the opposite of what they mean.”

“Pride,” John supplies.

“Stubbornness,” Alex adds.

“General stupidity.”

Lafayette rasps a laugh. “Well, at least you both have an accurate assessment of your species.”

“It’s good to have you on board, though,” John says with a smile that’s just shy of tender.

Alex returns it—inwardly thrilled that John is glad to have him around. Things haven’t always been easy, between them. An attempt at dating in the Academy, when they were both scraped raw and two steps from broken, blew up in their faces so spectacularly it took them years to clear away all the rubble. And the Incident didn’t help anything, either, though Alex still isn’t sure if John was furious at him for almost getting himself killed or for the danger he inadvertently put others in.

At least John’s anger seems to have lessened now. Enough for his smile to start reaching his eyes again.

“What’s the damage, though?” he continues, passing Alex another stack of petri dishes.

Alex accepts it with a roll of his eyes. Being forced into cleaning is always a danger when spending time in John’s lab.

“I’m still an ensign and I have to serve under Lee for the duration of the mission.”

“So you’re going to get discharged by the end of month one, got it.”

“Have a little faith in me here,” Alex says with only slightly exaggerated outrage.

“That is difficult,” Lafayette chimes in, “considering historical evidence.”

“I hate you both.”

“Again with the lying,” John tuts.

“So much.”

“Exaggerating your statement does not make it any more true, _mon ami_.”

“ _So,_ so much.”

Lafayette and John laugh, loud and bright, and Alex watches them, soaking it up and storing it away—this little glimpse of what it feels like to belong. He has a whole box full of them now and the longer he spends on this ship, with these people, the less afraid he becomes that it will all slip through his fingers like grains of sand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Story notes:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> \- Kirzaka, the Savran homeworld, means "scaled reptile" in Latvian and Savran is a derivative of savra, which means "lizard" in Greek. (Because I'm highly original with naming things.)  
> \- The idea of the International Space Agency (ISA) is borrowed from the Star Trek Universe.  
> \- The man giving the speech at the beginning of the chapter is named after the current president of the International Space Station (ISS).  
> -The title of the story is also from a quote by Carl Sagan: "across the sea of space, the stars are other suns." 
> 
>  
> 
> Comments are literally jet-engine fuel to my writing and usually make my life, so please leave one! (I, as most writers do, crave validation.)
> 
> As mentioned before, come hang out with me on [tumblr](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com) or check out the 'other suns' tag there to see some of the visual inspiration for the story. 
> 
> More to come soon. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for reference, B.U.R.R. still totally has Leslie Odom Jr.'s voice, because who else would he sound like?

**_Mission Brief – the_ Delaware:**

_Exploration and cataloguing of Unclassified Terrestrial Planet YT101981. Early satellite scans indicate a safely breathable, oxygen-rich atmosphere. Terrain is mountainous with extensive, dense swampland, but climate is currently unknown—estimated to be tropical-wet to subarctic; further research and classification is required. Crew should be prepared for a wide range of temperatures and potentially dangerous flora and fauna._

_No indications of organized civilization or higher sentient life._

_Current time planet-side is three months. If an extension is required, station command must be contacted through priority channels. All other standard operating procedure applies and weekly reports are expected._

 

_*Please also see the updated command crew roster below (changes presented in bold):_

**Hamilton, Alexander (Ensign)** – _botanist and communications officer_

 **Jefferson, Thomas (Commander)** – _chief linguist and mission second-in-command_

Lafayette (honorary Lieutenant Commander) – _Savran_ _liaison and head of mineralogy_

Laurens, John (Lieutenant) – _navigator and head of zoology_

 **Lee, Charles (Lieutenant)** – _head of botany_

Mulligan, Hercules (Lieutenant) – _ship quartermaster_

Reynolds, Maria (Lieutenant Commander) – _chief medical officer_

Schuyler, Elizabeth (Lieutenant) – _head of engineering_

Schuyler, Margarita (Flight Lieutenant) – _mission pilot_

Washington, George (Captain) – _mission leader_

 

_ _

 

Dinner on the _Delaware_ can range from closely resembling a riotous bar to a quiet family restaurant, depending on crew energy levels. A week and a half in and everyone is tired tonight. Alex loves being a part of the Initiative, loves the thrill of setting foot on a new planet and discovering the wonders and dangers it might hold, but actual space travel? Definitely not.

Their ship isn’t small by any means—a far cry from the cramped spaces he was forced to occupy as a refugee after the war, shepherded from one station to the next in an endless stream—but he can still feel the walls closing in on him, the corridors shrinking, and it’s getting harder to sleep.

_Snap._

He jerks at the sudden sound, blinking at Hercules sitting across from him.

“Yo, you in there?” Hercules asks, brow furrowed in knowing worry.

“Yes,” Alex deflects immediately.

“You sure about that?” Peggy teases from her seat next to Hercules.

And next to _her,_ Maria is giving him a flat, knowing look. He tries not to squirm too guiltily. He hasn’t been to see her in the medbay yet and it’s probably only a matter of time before she gets tired of waiting for him to get his act together and hunts him down.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he insists, plastering on a smile.

Fortunately, John, Eliza, and Lafayette—three of the people best at seeing through him—are working the B shift and won’t be at dinner. And Maria won’t say anything.

And he _is_ fine, really. Sometimes the nightmares get so bad that he has to practically gag himself to keep from waking Eliza up—or make sure he gets assigned to the B shift, or just not sleep at all, spending hours roaming the halls of the ship like a distressed ghost. He’s nowhere near that level yet and his … other issue hasn’t manifested, either, so far.

Everyone just worries so easily about him, and he can never understand _why._

Hercules lets it go for now, though, nodding and taking another impressively big bite of his chicken.

“Well, I don’t know about all of you,” he says, voice muffled by the food. “But I’m sick of the ship. Why’d we agree to three weeks?”

“It’s not that bad,” Peggy argues immediately, always protective of her ship.

“You’re not stuck down in cargo,” Hercules counters, flatly.

Peggy sticks her tongue out at him and Maria rolls her eyes. “I’m enjoying my time off,” she declares. “Before we land on the planet and I have to start running around patching you idiots up because you’ve accidentally caused a rockslide or nearly lost an arm to a carnivorous plant.”

“That was one time,” Alex argues. “And not a big deal. Eliza could’ve made me a new one.”

Peggy opens her mouth, ready to protest, and then pauses. “No,” she says, almost contemplative. “She would’ve been furious at you for getting hurt, but she would have loved the challenge of making a prosthetic limb. She hasn’t tried that yet.”

“Great,” Maria says flatly. “I won’t save you next time, then.”

“I’m very grateful,” Alex hurries to reassure her.

“But not enough to stop being an idiot.”

Peggy slings an arm around Maria’s shoulders, kissing her on the cheek. “They’re all idiots, though.”

Maria shifts to stare at her. “I’m counting you in this, Miss I-Have-To-Test-The-All-Terrain-Vehicle-On-As-Many-Different-Terrains-As-Possbile-No-Matter-How-Potentially-Dangerous-It-Might-Be.”

Peggy blinks back, all doe-eyed innocence. “How else is it supposed to live up to its name? This is _science,_ babe.”

Maria continues to look deeply unimpressed. Hercules subtly shifts away from them, focused a little too hard on his food to truly appear casual. Alex shakes his head, knowing that any moment Maria is going to soften—the way she always does around her girlfriend. It’s strange, seeing all of her jagged edges briefly smoothed down. He wonders, sometimes, if he looks like this around Eliza: gaze something close to tender, affection bleeding into the corner of his smile, expression open and raw and far too vulnerable.

It makes him nervous, so he never contemplates it for long.

Sure enough, Maria sighs and returns Peggy’s cheek kiss, biting her lip to hide a smile in the face of Peggy’s blinding, pleased grin.

“You two are sickening,” Hercules grumbles with mock outrage. “I’m trying to eat here, get a room or something. There’re too many couples on this damn ship.”

Peggy immediately kicks him under the table, hard enough to illicit a loud yelp. Alex nearly chokes on a mouthful of soup, laughter wanting to punch its way out of his throat.

He swallows it and the soup back down and vows to relay in great detail Hercules’ wounded-puppy expression to John and Lafayette the next time he sees them.

 

_ _

 

Maria ambushes him in the hallway after dinner, closing slender, calloused fingers over his wrist and dragging him towards the elevators without a word.

“Hey,” he protests, trying to tug free. Her grip is like iron, though, and his struggles only make her tighten it—sharp twinges of pain running up his arm.

“We’re going to the medbay,” she says, sharp. All the softness from earlier has vanished, but he isn’t surprised. They’ve never really been soft around each other.

“Fine,” he huffs, accepting that resistance is probably futile at this point. “You don’t have to break my arm off.”

She lets him go as the doors open onto Level Three, but walks behind him all the way to the medbay, like she thinks he’s going to bolt if she takes her eyes off him for a moment. He’s not sure if he should be offended by that or not. It isn’t something he’s tried—doesn’t want to abandon his dignity so completely—but the idea _has_ definitely crossed his mind before.

The medbay is tucked away on the far end of the level, past the labs and the storerooms—a quiet corner that rarely sees a lot of traffic during travel. Maria’s quarters are across the hall, and he’s never once set foot inside them. To his knowledge, no one is allowed except Peggy. Even Washington.

She keys in her code on the door to the medbay and it opens with a faint hiss.

“After you,” she says to him with a dramatic sweep of her arm and a flicker of a mirthless smile.

He resists the urge to roll his eyes and obeys. The sound of the door closing behind him is loud in his ears and he blows out a long breath, reminding himself that he isn’t trapped here—no matter how demanding Maria can be.

“I’m fine,” he says, staying in the middle of the room instead of making his way over to one of the narrow beds.

“We have a deal, Alex,” Maria says. Her shoulder brushes his on her way past. “We don’t lie to each other.”

“I’m not lying,” Alex insists.

“And we don’t avoid each other, remember? You come to me at the start of every mission. That’s the _deal.”_

“I _know,”_ Alex argues, defensive now.

“Then why the fuck didn’t you come see me after launch?” Maria asks, blunt as always.

 _I don’t know_ is on the tip of his tongue, but he grits his teeth against it. It _is_ a lie and Maria will immediately see it as such. Besides, he knows that honesty doesn’t come with any cost here, even judgment. Maria roams the ship at night, too. Maria bears the scars of violence on her skin and in her dreams. Maria has known hunger and loss and war. The first time they met in the Academy—sitting next to each other in a crowded lecture hall—it felt like looking into a strange mirror. He saw his own desperation and fierce determination and fracture lines reflected back at him from the defensive hunch of Maria’s shoulders and the hunted look in her eyes.

And he knows she experienced the same thing—that moment of unexpected, silent recognition has carried them through the last six years. They keep each other’s secrets and each other’s shadows and they rarely talk about any of it.

He’s not sure if “friends” is the right word for whatever they are, but he trusts her, perhaps more than anyone else in his life.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t clear me,” he says, eyes on the ceiling instead of her face. “And I need this. I _need …_ you know.”

There is nothing else for people like them: born in poverty on one of the colonies, uprooted by war, written off and cast aside—the ISA is their one shot for something better.

“I’ve never sidelined you before,” Maria says, sounding exasperated. “Even when I should have. Have a little faith in me, Alexander.”

Alex glances over and hates the way her crossed arms and arched eyebrow suddenly make him feel two feet tall.

“You’re right,” he admits.

“Of course I am,” she says and points sternly to one of the beds.

He sighs and takes a seat, perching on the very edge so that his feet still touch the hard floor. Maria has kept the lights dim, which he’s grateful for, but the sharp smell of antiseptic still lingers in the air and the standard-issue sheets are rough beneath his fingers. He focuses on his breathing and keeps his eyes open - the memories swirling in the back of his mind and skittering like ants down his spine, creeping into the gaps between his vertebrae.

Maria is quick and efficient as she takes his vitals, draws blood samples, and scans his chest. He tries to stay relaxed as she checks her instruments—the results haven’t changed in the past two years, but he’s still terrified of the inevitable day Maria will announce that the plague lurking in his body has spread.

“Doesn’t look like anything’s changed,” Maria announces and Alex exhales long and relieved. Maria narrows her eyes at him. “But you still need to be careful. A swamp isn’t ideal for your lungs.”

“I will,” he promises, knowing that she doesn’t believe him.

She doesn’t call him on it, though, just injects him with several different hypos—all designed by her to help him ward off renewed infection. The disease still manifests at least several times a year, no matter what they’ve tried, but he knows from experience it’s a lot more potent and damaging without her help.

“Thank you,” he says when she’s finished, wondering if it’s okay for him to flee now.

He never wants to spend a second longer in the medbay than he has to.

Maria flicks him on the forehead, but her lips are twitching slightly. “You’re welcome. Come back for another round after we land and don’t pull shit like this again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Alex says. The words drip with sarcasm, but he smiles to take the sting out of them.

Maria rolls her eyes and waves her hand, dismissive. “Great, be gone now.”

He stands on slightly unsteady legs—the drugs always make him feel shaky and wrongheaded for the first hour after they hit his bloodstream. Fortunately, all that’s left for him to do tonight is make it up to Level Two and his bed. Maria has her back turned to him, focused on her equipment, and he’s just as thankful for the privacy she’s giving him as he is for the way she always keeps the lights low.

He wobbles to the door and then out into the mercifully deserted hallway, keeping one hand on the wall for support. The elevator ride feels like ten years instead of ten seconds and he swears that he’s either walking in place or the corridor to crew quarters is somehow extending itself, but he finally reaches the door. No one made him move from the bed he originally claimed and he collapses onto it face first, only pausing long enough to pry his boots off before climbing under the covers, fully clothed.

One advantage of the drugs is the fatigue they induce—he’s asleep between one breath and the next, before his cheek has fully sunk into his pillow.

 

_ _

 

They have a week left before they reach the planet and he’s ready to tear apart the bulkheads with his bare hands, just to get rid of this trapped feeling that’s sunk into his bones and thrums at the base of his skull.

After his shift, he decides to go to Eliza’s workshop to distract himself, hoping that her steady presence will calm the fear and quiet his hurricane mind. He likes sitting and watching her work on her machines—the way she fits all of these tiny parts together to make a new, working whole almost like magic. A special brand of alchemy. With Eliza, sometimes the words and thoughts and memories that always batter around inside of him slow and still and he can appreciate the quiet, the clink of her tools, the rhythm of their shared breathing.

He picked the wrong, day, though, because as soon as he steps through the door he’s met with a familiar pair of yellow eyes—somehow managing to convey disdain even though they’re mechanical.

“Alexander,” B.U.R.R. says and Alex tamps down on the urge to turn around and walk right back out.

“B.U.R.R.,” he greets, managing to keep his voice civil.

B.U.R.R. (which stands for Bioelectronic Utility Research Robot) is what Eliza has dubbed her greatest creation (her words, not his): an impressive AI packed in a circular floating ball that can fit in Alex’s hands if he cupped them together, but with the ability to digitize new parts of himself at will, expanding into a humanoid form that annoyingly stands as tall as Alex. Eliza equipped him with a smooth, soothing voice and a pair of big yellow eyes and, in ball form, two long, spindly arms that retract into his body.

He’s arguably meant to help the crew with gathering data on the planet’s surface, but Alex knows that Eliza built B.U.R.R. specifically to keep an eye on _him._ They always end up paired together and B.U.R.R. nags him incessantly about proper dietary habits and sleep patterns. And though B.U.R.R. is meant to be a prototype, Eliza won’t ever replicate him—insists that he’s one of a kind and nothing else will come close to having his personality or intelligence. Which Alex thinks is a good thing.

Because B.U.R.R. is also a pain in the ass.

“You do know,” he’s saying now, floating about a foot away from Alexander’s face with his arms, honest-to-God crossed in front of his body (something he no doubt learned from Maria), “that the adult human body requires at least seven hours of sleep in order to function at full capacity, right?”

“I’m aware,” Alex says, unconsciously crossing his arms, as well.

“Then why do you insist on trying to work with less?”

It’s an argument they’ve had at least a thousand times before and Alex doesn’t bother playing his part in it now—just rolls his eyes and looks past B.U.R.R. to Eliza behind her worktable.

“Is there a reason he’s active?”

“I’m just running some checks before launch,” Eliza says with a knowing smile in his direction. “And I installed an updated scanner—which, now that you’re here, B.U.R.R. why don’t you scan Alexander?”

“No!” Alex yells before he can stop himself, much louder and more frantic than he’d intended.

Eliza and B.U.R.R. both stare at him in surprise, but he doesn’t take it back. If B.U.R.R. scans him, the virus that he hasn’t had the courage to tell Eliza about will light him up like a firework and there’s no way B.U.R.R. will keep quiet about it.

“No,” he repeats, quieter. “I … _no.”_

Eliza, bless her, doesn’t press him. “Okay.” She comes out from behind her table to stand next to him. “Scan me instead.”

B.U.R.R. is still peering at him, suspicious. “Why don’t you want me to scan you, Alexander?”

Goddamn this robot.

“Because it’s invasive and annoying.”

B.U.R.R. floats closer, inches away from Alex’s face now, and all he can see are those stupid yellow eyes trying to peer straight into his soul. “You’re hiding something.”

“Cut Alexander some slack, B.U.R.R.,” Eliza admonishes before Alex can bat B.U.R.R. across the room.

B.U.R.R. backs up and if he had a mouth, he would definitely be frowning. “Why? He’ll only hang himself with it.”

Alex splutters indignantly while Eliza laughs.

Later, after Eliza has shut B.U.R.R. down and put him back in storage, Alex has to ask, “did you really have to program him to be so irritating?”

“He’s not _that_ irritating.”

“He frequently asks me if I cheated on my intelligence tests because clearly I’m actually a colossal idiot.”

“Like I said, not _that_ irritating.”

“Eliza…”

She laughs, but it’s gentle, not mocking and comes over to put her hands on his waist. “I’m just responsible for his base programming, Alexander. B.U.R.R.’s personality is all his own.”

“Well then can you _re_ program him?”

“Nope.”

Alex pouts, exaggerated, and that pulls another laugh from Eliza, louder and less restrained. It fades too quickly, though, and her hands move up to his cheeks, her thumb stroking along the bone. “Are you okay?”

He nods. “I just don’t like being on the ship this long.”

He doesn’t tell her why, though he knows he should. When it comes to his past, he’s never had the right words—never known how to shape and craft them into something that Eliza would understand.

Paint a picture that wouldn’t make her leave.

Eliza hums, sympathetic, and presses a kiss to his neck, wrapping her arms around him again like an anchor. He sighs and sinks into it, and his mind isn’t quiet—the nightmares are creeping closer and closer—but feeling her warmth against him, the faint beat of her heart echoed in his own chest, is enough.

Just for a moment, it’s enough.

 

_ _

 

The nightmares finally catch up to him three days out and he jerks upright in bed in the middle of the night with a hand clapped instinctively over his mouth to muffle his screams. He digs his fingers into the skin of his cheek as his heart pounds violent against his ribcage and his lungs stutter, unable to get enough oxygen. He can smell smoke and taste blood and ash on his tongue. The screams of the dying fill the room, bouncing off the walls and ringing in his ears, and he _can’t breathe._

 _Focus,_ he tells his panicking mind. _You’re safe._

It doesn’t want to listen, insisting that he _RUN_ and _HIDE now before they find you do you want to die like everyone else do you know what they’ll do to you if—_

 _Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf,_ he counts, slow and steady—like a girl taught him on his first day cramped in the hold of a refugee ship. He can remember the braids that spilled down her back and her dark fingers threaded through his sweaty, trembling ones, but not her name.

_Uno, dos, tres, quatro, cinco, seis, siete, ocho, nueve…_

He keeps his eyes squeezed shut, unable to open them no matter how many times he tries, and curls up into a ball, pressing his face against his knees and keeping his hand firmly over his mouth. Tries to remember to breathe through his nose, but his lungs still aren’t cooperating.

He runs the gambit of human languages he knows and gets to counting in Adarian before the screams stop pressing against his lips and teeth and he can remove his hand. His cheek is throbbing and his shirt is damp with sweat and he needs to _move._

Fortunately, it doesn’t look like he woke anyone else up and he slides out of bed as quietly as possible—also absurdly grateful that he decided to sleep in his own quarters tonight instead of with Eliza. His hands are shaking violently, making it a struggle to dress. It’s so fucking _cold_ , he can practically see his breath in the air, and he scrambles for the big, oversized sweater he keeps in his locker, suddenly desperate to be warm.

His homeworld was tropical—the air thick and humid, like a blanket settled on your shoulders—and his body has never adjusted to the sterile chill of spaceships.

Sweater on, he fumbles into his boots and staggers out into the hall, half-expecting it to be full of looming shadows. The air is too _still._ Quiet is never good, quiet means that something awful is about to come—the eye of a hurricane, the breath before the shriek of bombs falling fills the air—

_Stop it. You’re safe._

He shudders and quickens his pace, following the curve of the corridor until it spills out into the dining hall. He freezes there, eyes locking on the familiar figure slumped at the end of one of the long tables.

Thank God.

“Hey,” he whispers when he reaches the table, sliding in on the other side.

Maria looks up, surprise flickering across her face before it’s replaced with a sad, knowing smile. “Hey. Was wondering when you’d finally be joining me.”

He wheezes, unsure if it’s a laugh or a sob trying to get out. Maria pushes a mug across the table—steam rising from it in a steady plume. He immediately wraps his aching fingers around it, thrilled by the warmth. It’s another tradition of theirs: whoever wakes up first makes two cups of tea, just in case the other person shows. They probably waste a lot of tea, thinking about it, but the gesture is so appreciated on both sides that neither of them are in any hurry to stop.

“Thank you.”

“Chess?” Maria asks. “I brought the board.”

He shakes his head. “Not tonight. Can’t focus.”

“Fencing?”

He opens his mouth, but instead of words there is only a low, wounded sound that grates against his ears. It hasn’t been this bad in a long time and his stupid body won’t stop _shaking._

Maria reaches out and laces her fingers through his against the tabletop—same as the girl did all those years ago. He doesn’t know how long they sit like that, holding onto each other - long enough for the smell of smoke to recede and for it to be only tea he tastes when he raises the cup to his lips.

“Do you tell Peggy about any of this?” he asks eventually. They don’t usually talk about their nightmares directly, but tonight he needs to know.

“Do you tell Eliza?” Maria fires back.

“I asked you first.”

“So that’s a no.”

He sighs. “No, I don’t. I … I _can’t._ I’ve even tried writing it down, thought a letter might help, but …”

“There’s too much,” Maria finishes and nods. “I tell her some. Enough for her to understand.”

“She can understand?” Alex asks, dubious.

Maria sighs. “No, not completely. But she tries to—that’s what matters.”

“I see.”

Maria squeezes his hand—admonishment and comfort all in one gesture. “Eliza loves you. You should try trusting her.”

“I do.”

“With _this.”_

“I…” he shakes his head and takes a long gulp of his tea to cover the way his words have died on him again. They always seem to, on nights like this. Or any time he tries to apply them to his own history.

Maria sighs again, but doesn’t press him, and they pass the rest of the night in companionable, exhausted silence.

 

_ _

 

“Bridge crew to stations. I repeat, bridge crew to stations. Prepare for atmospheric entry.”

They’re ahead of schedule, but Alex is exhilarated as he runs through the ship, joining John in a mad dash for the elevators as Peggy’s voice repeats the announcement over the speakers. Jefferson is already inside and he rolls his eyes at them, but holds the doors.

“No running on the ship, ensign,” he says as the elevator ascends.

“Yes, sir,” Alex fires back and promptly runs out the doors the second they open enough to let him through.

A little insubordination (hopefully) won’t mean anything. Especially when it feels like a return to form hearing Jefferson shout indignantly somewhere behind him.

He slows to a more respectful walk when he reaches the bridge, nodding to Washington as he sits down at his station and picks up his headset again.

“Engineering, disengage core.”

“Core disengaging in five, four, three, two…”

The ship hums and shudders and the blurred stars sharpen into normal pinpricks of light beyond the viewports.

“Atmospheric shields up,” Peggy announces, hands flying.

“Take us, lieutenant,” Washington orders.

“Going in.”

The ship shudders again, more violently, as they breach the planet’s atmosphere. And then _keeps_ shuddering until it feels like the very walls are rattling.

 _Something’s wrong,_ Alex thinks just as Peggy says the same.

“What is it?” Washington demands, bracing himself against the edge of the map table.

“Some kind of resistance!” Peggy shouts. “Or interference! Our systems are going fucking haywire.”

Alex turns to his console and watches the display flicker, same as the lights overhead. The whole ship seems trapped in a miniature earthquake and he can hear the screeching of metal rising above the panicked voices of the bridge crew, drowning out everything else.

“ _Engines failing!”_ Peggy yells above the chaotic din and a moment later the bridge goes dark and warning sirens start to blare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so stupidly proud of Bioelectronic Utility Research Robot, you guys don't even know. 
> 
> Also, I'm using naval ranks here, even though the ISA is not technically a military organization. They've just borrowed them to instill a command structure on board their ships. 
> 
> Come find me on tumblr at [wobblyspelling](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com) and check out the 'other suns' tag for visual inspirational for this story. I'll be posting more as the story progresses. Also, I, like most writers, crave validation and comments literally make my life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too happy about this chapter, but it's done. Hopefully it isn't too rushed. :)

**INCIDENT REPORT – THE _DELAWARE,_ 2798\. Planet: YT101981**

_We experienced an unexpected systems failure upon entering the atmosphere of the planet. There seemed to be some kind of unknown interference that scrambled the ship and temporarily killed the engine, sending us into a free fall. However, Flight Lieutenant Schuyler managed to keep the ship under control and we were able to restore power to the main engines after approximately sixty seconds. We avoided a complete crash, but were still forced to make an emergency landing and the ship remains damaged. We are having continued trouble getting a number of systems, including the FTL core, back online._

_We believe the ship is repairable and shouldn’t take more than a few weeks, but will keep station command updated with continued reports on our progress. Evac is not necessary at this time, as we also do not want the same fate to fall on a rescue ship._

_A complete damage report is attached below._

 

**\- Lieutenant Elizabeth Schuyler, Head Engineer**

 

 

_ _

 

Alex’s hands are still shaking half an hour after their emergency landing in the middle of a field and he’s not sure what exactly he’s been doing for the last thirty minutes - couldn't give a detailed report if someone asked him. Definitely a lot of sitting glued to his station on the bridge and collecting damage reports from other parts of the ship, all of which have bled together into a messy jumble in the back of his mind.

It’s not as bad as it could have been—not nearly—but his nerves are going to be shot to hell for a while yet. When things have finally calmed about an hour after landing, he takes the opportunity to escape the bridge and make his way down to Level Four.

Engineering is still controlled chaos, technicians darting everywhere like frazzled ants, and Eliza is in the middle of it all, typing furiously on her datapad. She looks up when the doors hiss closed behind him and relief breaks sharp across her face. Three quick strides and he’s wrapping his arms around her, feeling her fingers dig into his back.

“Thank god you’re all right,” she whispers.

“You too,” he says, leaning back to wipe away some grease smeared on her cheek.

She takes his hand, squeezing tight, and continues typing with her other. “Sorry I just have to finish submitting this report…”

“It’s okay,” Alex starts and then Washington’s voice booms over the ship speakers, drowning out the rest of his sentence.

“All crew apart from engineering please gather outside, thank you.”

“Guess that’s my call,” Alex says reluctantly.

She smiles at him, brief, and then she’s being surrounded by technicians—now resembling a swarm of bees all talking over each other. Alex shakes his head, trying not to dwell on the smoke still hanging in the air from the strained engines or the taste of it on his tongue.

They’re safe, they made it, everyone’s alive: it’s a litany he repeats to himself as he hurries to retrieve his envirosuit from his locker and join the rest of the crew outside. The suits are made of a white, breathable material that fits easily over his standard uniform, but can absorb an impressive amount of damage if needed, and filter out a wide variety of environmental toxins. A helmet with an orange face plate and a heads-up display completes the ensemble, plus a built-in breathing apparatus, connected to an independent supply of oxygen on his back. He can control all of these features, as well as the internal temperature, from a device fastened around his wrist.

It’s a state-of-the-art system, the best and latest technology that ISA money can buy, but he still hates wearing the damn thing. It makes him feel trapped, especially the helmet, and that hasn’t gone away no matter how many hours he’s logged in it.

Nothing to do but bear it, though, he thinks as he finishes fastening the helmet. Washington’s announcement is repeating again, prompting him to break into a jog to the elevators, which are miraculously still working—in spite of the lights occasionally flickering overhead.

Outside, the earth is soft beneath his boots, yielding, and the dry grass brushes his knees. They’ve landed on the slope of a steep hill—the ship’s landing struts sunk deep into the mud—and from this high vantage point he can see miles of thick, green canopy surrounding them. It seems to go on forever, swallowed by the horizon line in one direction and stopped by towering mountains in another. The sky overhead is dark with heavy clouds, almost black in color, though if he squints he swears that there's a purple-tint to them.

“Weird, huh?” John says from his left, also peering up at the clouds.

“Not the weirdest we’ve seen, though.”

“Yeah, remember that planet with the puke green sky?” Hercules says, coming up on his other side. “That shit was terrifying.”

“I thought the random cyclones were worse, actually,” Lafayette chimes in.

“Nah, the sky never let you relax.”

“Neither did the random cyclones,” Alex says, wry, and barely dodges an elbow aimed at his side.

From the front of their small gathering, Washington clears his throat loudly. He’s standing in on the landing ramp, features obscured by his own helmet. Though the mission report listed the air as breathable, protocol demands that helmets are to be kept on for at least the first twenty-four hours as an extra precaution.

“Thank you all for your quick actions and professionalism during our rather … rough landing,” Washington begins. “I’m sure it would have been a lot of worse had you not all dealt with the situation so swiftly.” He clasps his hands behind his back. With his shoulders thrown back and his feet at parade rest, he looks every inch the general he used to be. “Our engineers have assessed the damage and submitted an incident report to station command. They estimate, currently, that it will take at least three weeks for the ship to be fixed. In the meantime, I suggest that we carry on with our mission as planned. Lafayette, I’m putting you in charge of atmospheric monitoring. Figure out what it was that messed with the ship’s systems.”

Lafayette nods and throws a casual approximation of a salute. Washington’s head tilts slightly, like it sometimes does when he’s trying not to smile. “As for everyone else, get supplies together. We’ll establish base camps in the morning. Division heads, you know the drill: make your assignments for base camps one, two, and three now. Five staff per camp. Considering the circumstances of our landing, I expect daily reports from each camp.”

More murmurings of agreement and nods.

“We’ll be shutting down power to the ship for the foreseeable future,” Washington says. “So dinner will be cooked out here tonight – Mulligan you’re in charge of that.” Hercules salutes, a little crisper than Lafayette’s, though still nowhere near military standard. “Dismissed.”

He vanishes back up the ramp and the division heads gather together a few feet away, John and Lafayette joining them. Alex watches and tries to temper his frustration at seeing Lee in his place, standing where he stood on the last mission.

“Three months in a fucking swamp,” Hercules mutters. “Why did we sign up for this again?”

“We’re all secret masochists?” Alex asks, tearing his attention away from the meeting.

“I’m starting to wonder.” He smacks Alex on the shoulder. “C’mon, I need help carrying food out here.”

“Don’t you have a staff?”

“Don’t you want to help your friend?”

“Not really.”

“It’s better than standing out here trying to burn a hole in Lee’s back by staring at him, isn’t it?”

Ouch.

“Fine,” he grumbles and follows Hercules back into the ship.

 

_ _

 

The sky is darkening by the time they’ve unloaded all of Hercules’ supplies and the division heads have called for their staff. (Everyone was sweating buckets in their envirosuits and decided, just this once, to ignore procedure and take their helmets off earlier than the required twenty-four hours—afraid they’d manage to somehow suffocate themselves otherwise.)

Alex forces his feet to move over to the botany section, already knowing what his fate is going to be.

“Let me guess,” he says before Lee can read it out loud from his stupid clipboard. “Camp Three.”

“Hamilton,” Lee says and pretends to check his list. “Yes, Camp Three is correct.”

Alex ignores the voice in the back of his mind frantically telling him to keep his mouth shut and says, “why? I’m the best botanist you have and you’re dropping me two hundred miles away in the middle of a swamp?”

“Swamps are very biologically diverse,” Lee says with a smirk. “I’m sure you’ll be able to gather plenty of research. And you’re hardly the _best_ botanist we have, considering your recent demotion.” He takes a step forward, the smirk twisting into an open sneer. “Tell me, Hamilton, was it not enough to fuck one Schuyler? You had to spread your legs to get favors from the commander, too?”

Red descends over Alex’s vision as the words clang around inside his skull. He can barely feel the pain of his nails digging deep grooves into his palms and he doesn’t care one iota about protocol, he is going to cave this motherfucker’s _face in_ for—

“That’s enough,” Lafayette says, closing a hand over Alex’s shoulder to prevent him from moving. Alex barely swallows down a snarl of fury and frustration. “Lee is your superior officer, _mon ami.”_ He turns to Lee, narrowing his glowing eyes. “Which means that you can show some professionalism, Lieutenant, can you not?”

“Of course, sir,” Lee says through gritted teeth. Alex draws a tiny drop of satisfaction from that.

“Good. Dismissed.” Lafayette says and drags Alex away, ignoring Lee’s indignant spluttering.

“Let go of me,” Alex hisses, trying to wrench his arm free—the fury quickening into panic.

Lafayette obeys instantly and Alex staggers a few steps forward, needing some distance. “I am sorry, but I could not let you punch him.”

“Did you hear what he _said?”_

“Yes. It was uncalled for. But that does not mean you can punch him, _petit lion._ You would have been discharged for such an offense.”

“It might have been worth it,” Alex mutters rebelliously, though his lingering anger is cooling.

 _Does Lee know?_ A small, insidious voice whispers fearfully and he ruthlessly squashes it. Lee can’t know—no one does, not even Maria, though he imagines she suspects. That was just an asshole aiming for the most degrading and crass thing he could think to say. Nothing more.

“I doubt that,” Lafayette says with one of his sharp smiles. “Besides, Angelica would murder you if you caused an incident, _non?”_

“I know,” Alex says, blowing out a long breath. “You’re right.”

Lafayette pats him on the top of the head like an errant toddler, grinning in the face of his scowl, and heads off to help a group of ensigns struggling to move a large crate of equipment.

God, Alex needs better friends.

“Camp Three, huh?” John says, sidling up to him. Alex wonders if he overheard the entire conversation with Lee, but is afraid to ask.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Me too,” John declares and Alex turns to face him in surprise.

“Really? But you’re division head, you don’t need to go sit in the worst dredges of a swamp.”

John smiles at him, crooked. “Didn’t you hear Lee, even the dredges of swamps are biologically diverse. It should be interesting.”

Alex doesn’t know how to accept this: John being so easily selfless. It’s still a relatively new development in their relationship and it throws him off balance every time. “You still don’t have to…”

John’s fingers curl over his shoulder, exactly where Lafayette’s were a few minutes ago and warm through Alex's suit. “Alex,” he says, firm in spite of the affection in his gaze. “It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Alex says and doesn’t add the _thank you_ hovering on the tip of his tongue. That usually just seems to make John uncomfortable. “We can brave the swamp monsters together.”

John arches an eyebrow and drops his hand. “Swamp monsters?”

“Considering we nearly crashed on this planet, I’m going to start off with the worst option first so I’m not unpleasantly surprised again. So the swamp is probably going to be full of creepy monsters and we’ll all get eaten within two days.”

“Sounds fun,” John says with only a little sarcasm.

“Of course it does,” Alex fires back. “Why else would we join the ISA if not to get eaten by swamp monsters?”

John laughs and shakes his head, raking a few loose strands of hair back from his face. “I know that’s why I signed up.”

He looks relaxed, content, in spite of their circumstances, and not for the first time, Alex wonders if they’re ever going to sit down and talk. About the Incident, about the Academy, about the scars they cut into each other—if they even need to. Maybe it is only Alex who can still feel a weight between them, see the cracks lingering in their foundation. Maybe he is carving monsters out of mere shadows. Maybe his wounds run deeper than John’s.

Maybe, maybe, maybe … it’s that word he keeps getting hung up on—the uncertainty of it all.

_ _

 

“Camp Three, huh?” Eliza asks him as they prepare for bed that night, piling extra blankets on top to ward off the sudden cold that has permeated the ship and the camp.

(Washington refused to turn the power on for the duration of the night, too concerned about the ship, so everyone is adding layers or sleeping on the ground by the fire outside.)

“Camp Three,” Alex says, pulling a sweater on over his usual sleep shirt.

Eliza sighs. “I suppose I’m not surprised.”

“Not with Lee in charge.”

He’s already decided not to tell her what Lee said. She, personally, wouldn’t do anything about it—content to let stuff like this slide off her back—but she might tell Peggy and Peggy _would_ do something.

“I’m sorry,” Eliza says as she climbs under the covers.

Alex joins her, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. “Me too. I don’t like the thought of being two hundred miles away in a dense swamp.”

“Well, I’m definitely sending B.U.R.R. with you.”

Alex groans into her shoulder. “That’s not necessary.”

“Yes, it is. Especially after that carnivorous plant on MM062878—”

“That was _one time.”_

“He’s still going.”

Alex groans again, but doesn’t argue any further. He knows it eases Eliza’s mind, sending her little robot along with him, and he isn’t ever going to begrudge her that beyond token protests.

Eliza cards her fingers through his hair, now loose around his shoulders, and says quietly, “I’m going to miss you.”

It twists something in his chest, ties his stomach all up in knots. He shifts, bracing himself on his elbow so he can lean in to kiss her. “I’ll be back in a month for another camp assignment. And we’ll probably need supplies before that, even. It won’t be so bad.”

 _I’m going to miss you, too:_ is still something he doesn’t know how to say. His walls won’t come down that far, not yet. Maybe with time.

“You’re right,” Eliza agrees. “I’m still going to miss you.”

He kisses her again, trying to convey everything through it that he can’t put into words.

She returns it, bringing her cold hand up to cup his cheek, and he thinks that she might understand. At least a little.

 

_ _

 

At dawn, he goes to Maria to submit to one last round of drugs and then spends the next hour hiding from the rest of the crew while he gets his bearings back. All the lab and camping equipment is packed up in the shuttle that will fly them to their coordinates. Peggy will be taking his group first, and then dropping the other two off on her way back to the ship.

He hates the cramped shuttle even more than he hates the ship, but at least it can cover two hundred miles in under an hour. Sometimes in under thirty minutes if Peggy is feeling particularly daring.

Today, though, she’s playing it safe—probably considering what happened to the ship - and flies low and steady above the treetops. And though the lights flicker ominously twice, they don’t run into any mechanical problems.

“This is your stop!” Peggy shouts, slowly sinking the shuttle into the trees.

Alex and John, along with Green, Harvendall, and Cavender, disembark. The earth is even wetter here, sucking his boot in to the ankle. A heavy mist hangs between the trees and the canopy above them blots out almost all signs of the sun.

“Charming,” John says, glancing around at the water and the marshy ground.

“It’s gonna be hell setting up a camp here,” Alex grumbles.

John ignores him, going to help the others unload all of the equipment. Alex resigns himself to his fate and wanders the clearing, scouting out the best places to pitch the tents. The strip of land they’re currently standing on is small and narrow, hardly ideal. There is a bigger section a few yards away, but a body of water stands in the way and he has no idea how deep it is.

Only one way to test it.

He takes a deep breath, reminds himself that he loves his job (most days), and wades in.  It quickly bubbles up to his waist and then his chest, but fortunately no higher. They should be able to get the crates of equipment across it without too much trouble.

“Found a spot?” John calls to him as he's climbing out of the murky water.

“Yeah, over here!” he shouts back and watches John appear at the water’s edge.

His gaze immediately snaps to Alex’s envirosuit, which is now mud-caked from the middle of his chest to his feet. “Not too deep, I take it?”

Alex grimaces. “No. Start bringing the equipment over.”

John smirks. “Right away, _ensign._ Oh wait….”

“Asshole,” Alex grumbles, but fords back across the river to help with the metal crates.

They nearly drop two of them, trying to brace them over their heads in spite of their weight, but everything makes it safely across.

“Right,” John says and squints up at the small patches of sky visible through the thick trees. “We should be able to get everything set up before nightfall, if we hurry.”

“No we won’t,” Alex declares after checking the sky, too. They only have another hour or two before dusk and Cavender, Harvendall, and Green definitely aren’t that efficient.

“Will you please stop questioning my orders and start pitching tents?” John asks dryly.

“Yes, _sir,”_ Alex mocks and drags a protesting Harvendall off to help him. She might be slow, but she’s got a keen eye for detail which means she won’t do stupid shit like driving the grounding stakes in wrong.

Green, on the other hand, is a disaster on most fronts except mineralogy and geology, so he is sitting out set-up. Cavender seems to be somewhere in between the other two, but there is definitely a reason why all three of them are continuously assigned to Base Camp Three.

Sure enough, by the time the shadows start to deepen, they only have one sleep tent and one equipment tent erected and there is a vein growing more pronounced in John’s forehead.

“Hey, you asked for Camp Three,” Alex reminds him as they reposition one of the stakes into a more solid piece of earth.

“And I’m regretting it now,” John mutters, wiping a muddy hand across his equally muddy face.

Alex doubts any of them are going to be very clean for three months. 

They finally finish putting up all the tents and get the fire going long after the swamp has grown pitch dark. As Cavender cooks dinner, chattering to Green about a new recipe she learned back on the station, Alex huddles in front of the flames and listens to the distant sounds of animals waking for the night: the chatter of birds, the hum of insects, a croaking that may or may not be a frog.

“What do you think?” John asks, sitting beside him. “Are we still gonna get eaten by swamp monsters?”

Alex peers up into the darkness overhead and tries to ignore the shiver of strange dread dripping down his back. “Maybe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are the best and my biggest motivator to continue writing. Or come hang out with me on tumblr at [wobblyspelling](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com) and check out the 'other suns' tag for visual inspiration.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A relatively short interlude chapter before we really start to pick up speed.

_“Exploration is in our nature. We began as wanderers, and we are wanderers still.”_

_  
― **Carl Sagan**_

 

PART TWO: THE FOG 

**_ _**

 

 

**MISSION LOG – CAMP THREE, YT101981**

_Who the fuck decided on this planet? Have we done something wrong? Are you trying to punish us? (Please don’t answer that, actually.)  It has rained incessantly for the last four days and the earth is little more than thick mud, impossible to sleep on. We’ve tried the trees, but most of them are covered with a slimy moss that prevents anyone from climbing them. Except B.U.R.R. HE can perch in the fucking trees._

_Temperatures descend to near freezing at night, though this does not seem to harden the ground. Naturally. And something is fucking with our scanning equipment. I haven’t been able to get an accurate reading on anything since we landed. Not that it particularly matters because I think I’ve seen more interesting alien flora in a fucking desert. Here, it is little more than numerous variants of algae, moss, and slime._

_Something deep in the marshes also shrieks well into the night, making sleep even more impossible than the wet conditions do._

_Are we really meant to stay here for three fucking months? Really? Even the cyclone planet was better than this. I haven’t felt clean in almost a week._

_-_ **Alexander Hamilton, Ensign**

**GW:** _Hamilton, this far too unprofessional to submit to station command. Please revise._

 **AH:** _My apologies, sir. I wasn’t aware you read these. I’ll correct it immediately._

 

_ _

 

“I’m afraid I can’t get an accurate reading.”

Alex, standing in knee-deep swamp water, glares up at where B.U.R.R. is hovering in the branches of one of the massive trees that surround their camp.

“Try again.”

B.U.R.R. sighs. “I’ve tried three times so far, Alexander, with the same result. It’s pointless to attempt a fourth time.”

“Fuck,” Alex mutters, glancing down at the portable scanner in his hand. It keeps glitching—strange static fizzing across the display every few minutes—and the readings it’s providing are nowhere near accurate. If there was actually this much toxicity in the fungi, they’d all be dead.

The radios are having the same problem, cutting in and out at random intervals, and he’s gone from mild annoyance to open frustration.

“Come down then, I guess,” he says.

“Thanks for your permission,” B.U.R.R. gripes, floating down to eye level.

“We’ll just have to take more physical samples,” Alex decides. Then looks around at the steadily deepening shadows. The swamp is naturally dark during the day, due to the dense canopy overhead, but at night it turns black as pitch. “Tomorrow.”

His satchel is nearly full, anyway.

“Fine,” B.U.R.R. says and settles onto his shoulder, clamps extending like little feet to keep him balanced. Alex tries to glare at him but B.U.R.R. can’t see his face through his helmet.

“I’m not a taxi service.”

“I’m tired,” B.U.R.R. declares. “The swamp messes with my joints.”

“And it doesn’t mess with mine?”

“I got tree samples for you,” B.U.R.R. adds and Alex, sensing a losing battle, relents.

“Fine.”

“Good.” B.U.R.R. gestures with one of his spindly arms. “Onward, then.”

“I hate you.”

“So you continue to inform me.”

Alex shakes his head and starts the slow slog back to camp. The air is thick and humid, even though the protective filters of his suit, and Maria was right: the wet climate isn’t helping his lungs. It hasn’t been too bad yet, but out here, away from the prying eyes of the camp, he allows himself to cough—the sound thankfully muffled by his helmet.

He can still practically _feel_ B.U.R.R. side-eyeing him.

“You are unwell,” B.U.R.R. says and it isn’t a question.

“No,” Alex still lies. _Technically_ lies. He’s been much more “unwell” than this before.

“You have a wet cough,” B.U.R.R. pushes. “Which suggests fluid in your lungs.”

“Have you been hanging out with Maria?” Alex grumbles, ducking down to avoid some low-hanging branches.

“Alexander,” B.U.R.R. says with the same exasperated tone that Eliza has been known to use from time to time.

“I’m fine,” Alex insists. “It’s not a problem.”

“It might become one.”

“Then I’ll tell you,” Alex says as he shoves some sticky vines out of the way. They leave behind a strange trail of slime along the sleeve of his suit, and he fucking _hates_ this planet.

B.U.R.R. huffs, dubious, and Alex rolls his eyes. “I will.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” B.U.R.R. pauses and then points to their left. “The camp is that way.”

“I knew that,” Alex grumbles and changes directions.

 

_ _

 

He spends a few hours back at camp in the research tent, hunched over a microscope and jotting down observations in a worn notebook. It would probably be faster to use his tablet and dictate, but he’s always liked the physical act of writing.

He talks too fast for the tablet half the time, anyway.

“Anything interesting?” John asks him when night has fully descended, hovering in the open doorway.

It’s raining again outside—a loud, pulsing drumbeat. It reminds of his homeworld, before the end came, and he still hasn’t decided if that’s a good thing or not. If it’s what’s making his dreams fitful instead of the muddy ground and the wildlife.

“Not really,” he sighs, rubbing at his tired eyes. “It’s difficult to get certain levels of data without the scanners. There are some weird chemical properties, though.”

“How so?” John asks and wanders closer, perching on a stool. His hair has gone even frizzier with the humidity and defied his attempts to tame it, escaping from his pony tail in wild wisps.

Alex shrugs. He’s unsure if what he’s seeing is accurate, especially without scans to back it up, but. “It almost looks like something has infected it.”

John frowns. “A parasite?”

“I don’t know. But it’s in everything. Trees, moss, water plants—all of it has this same anomaly.”

John wipes a hand over his face. “Why does that sound ominous?”

“Because anomalies are never good?”

John shakes his head and then bites his lip, weirdly hesitant. “Uh, by the way. I came to ask you—would you be willing to help me tomorrow? I tagged a couple of interesting animals and I’d like to check on them, but I might need a second pair of hands.”

Alex freezes. “And you don’t want one of the others to help you?”

John arches an eyebrow and Alex remembers, sudden and vivid, Green tripping over a log this morning and getting himself mired in mud. It took Cavender and Harvendall nearly ten minutes to extract him.

“Never mind, I’ll go.”

“If you’re not too busy, of course,” John says, still with that strange politeness. Alex hates it.

“It’ll be a nice break from digging around for plants,” he says with what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“Good.” John nods and stands with some of his usual confidence. “Come to dinner?”

“Be there in a minute,” Alex says.

He waits until John has exited the tent and vanished around a corner before he allows himself to bend over and cough—hand braced against the table for support and the other covering his mouth to muffle the noise.

 

_ _

 

 

Dinner is a quiet affair, everyone tired from a long day and discouraged by the incessant rain, and on his way to his tent for bed, Alex pauses at the edge of camp, peering out into the darkness.

“What is it?” B.U.R.R. asks, floating near his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Alex says, unable to explain the strange feeling humming in his blood.

There is no movement in the shadows, no unusual sounds to justify his paranoia, but he can’t shake it. It’s been following him like a wraith ever since they landed, creeping closer and closer with every passing day.

“It’s probably nothing,” he decides and B.U.R.R.’s yellow eyes narrow.

Yeah, he doesn’t believe himself, either.

 

_ _

 

“So what exactly are these creatures?” Alex asks the next morning, slogging behind John into a new section of the swamp.

Here the trees are _massive,_ roots as wide as a road and rising from the water in complicated tangles.

“Some avian species,” John says, focused on the tracking device in his hand. He makes a sudden right, heading closer to the trees, and Alex hurries to follow. “And a couple insects and reptiles.”

“And how _big_ are they?” Alex asks, trying not to let too much trepidation show.

John grins over his shoulder. “Worried?”

“The last time I went with you on one of these trips, I ended up nearly turned into lunch, remember?”

John laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah. I don’t know which one of you was more upset: you or the bird who thought you were a bug to bring home to her young.”

“Me,” Alex gripes, though he can feel the start of a smile blooming in the corner of his mouth. “Definitely me.”

“You had almost matching expressions, though, so it was hard to tell.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you? Considering you fucking _filmed_ instead of getting me down from the nest.”

“It was a very high nest,” John says, all innocence. “It required a lot of careful planning.”

“Fuck you,” Alex says and John laughs again.

“They’re not big, I promise. Unless we run into one of your hypothetical swamp monsters, nothing should be able to eat you.”

“Good,” Alex says, following John up onto the roots of the tree.

They’re slippery with moss and he scrapes a few samples off out of sheer habit, stowing them in the bag slung over his shoulder. This moss is vibrant purple in color, so maybe it will produce different results from the red and green stuff he’s been collecting so far.

“Okay, we should be close to the first one,” John announces and drops to a crouch. Alex mirrors him.

The bird perched on the branches above them is small and brightly-colored and one of the more hideous things Alex has seen.

It’s got yellow and green feathers, with blue, knobbed scales along its forehead and under its curved, sharp beak. Black tufts stand up on top of its head and its bulbous eye is the same shade of sickly, vomit green as its feathers.

“The fuck,” Alex says and John shushes him.

“We have to be careful, it might be poisonous.”

_“What.”_

John shoots him a vaguely guilty look. “Um, from what I’ve observed it’s capable of breathing gas. Those little things under its beak are sacs.”

“You _motherfucker,”_ Alex hisses.

“It’s not dangerous to us,” John insists, waving a placating hand. “At least, I don’t think it can breathe enough to really hurt us. It mostly uses it to paralyze insects, from what I’ve seen so far.”

“You _don’t think?”_  

“Relax, Alex, it’ll be fine.”

“If I end up dead from a tiny, disgusting bird, John Laurens, I promise I _will_ find a way to come back and violently murder you.”

“Relax,” John repeats. “I’m going to get closer.”

Alex buries his head in his hands, though somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice that sounds like B.U.R.R. is calling him a hypocrite.

 

_ _

 

John doesn’t end up with a face full of poison gas, much to Alex’s disappointment, and the other two birds are equally ugly but not nearly as dangerous.

They’re combing through some reeds in search of what John has called a truly epic-looking beetle when John says, overly calm, “so how are things with Eliza?”

It still hits Alex like a punch. They’ve steered carefully around this topic for two goddamn years and he has no idea what’s changed—what’s prompted John to bring this up _now._

“Are you sure you want me to answer?” he blurts before he can stop himself and gets a scathing frown in return.

“No, Alex, it was a rhetorical question.”

Alex frowns back, but sets aside the insults that immediately bubble up on his tongue.

“It’s good,” he says. “Very good.”

John nods. “I’m glad.”

He _sounds_ sincere, but he can be a good liar sometimes. Almost as good as Alex—and wasn’t that part of what doomed them?

 _Are you?_ he doesn’t ask, not wanting to get into an argument in the middle of a fucking swamp.

He has learned _some_ restraint since joining the ISA.

“Thank you.”

John nods again, gaze somewhere far away. The silence stretches on, and not knowing what else to do, Alex bends back over the reeds.

“I—” John starts after a long moment, wearing an expression that Alex can’t begin to decipher, but then something lands on Alex’s head and John’s eyes widen. “Don’t move.”

The _thing_ moves, though, crawling onto his forehead. In his peripheral vision, he can see blue and wings and pincers.

“I’m going to smother you in your sleep,” he whispers as John cautiously approaches.

“Hold still,” John admonishes. He’s fished a container out of his bag and is raising it aloft, poising to strike.

“Or set fire to your tent.”

“ _Shh.”_

“Poison your food.”

John lunges forward, smacking the container onto Alex’s forehead. Alex barely restrains himself from punching John in the stomach in instinctive retaliation as John makes a noise of triumph and seals the container in one deft movement, trapping the beetle inside.

“ _Yes.”_

“You’re still dead to me.”

John rolls his eyes. “Wimp. It didn’t even attack you.”

“It might have attacked me?”

“If you aggravated it, yeah.”

_“Motherfucker.”_

 

_ _

 

On the way back to camp, they pass through a new section of swamp—this one full of dangling, luminescent purple vines.

“What is it with this planet and purple?” John asks, brushing them aside carefully.

“It does seem to be a theme,” Alex agrees as he takes a few samples.

This is the first glowing shit he’s come across and he will admit that they’re beautiful. And they keep glowing once they’ve been severed from the tree, which is interesting. He’s already planning a barrage of potential tests in his head.

“Okay, I think we can head back and—”

He stops abruptly—the hum in his blood spiking to a near deafening roar, and he knows what it is now. Spins to face the shadows with a stuttering heart.

 _Watched_ —he feels like he’s being _watched._

“What is it?” John asks, following his gaze with a puzzled frown.

Alex thinks of the war—of monsters in the dark waiting to strike. Nowhere to hide, to run to. Nowhere _safe._

He thinks of all the things he’s never said, to John or anyone else. Of the instinct seared into his bones he doesn’t know how to convey. Of his brain that sometimes trips so easily into panic and traps and mines.

 _You’re imagining things, conjuring up phantoms. Stop being paranoid._  

“Nothing,” he says. “Probably just the wind.”

“Okay,” John says - accepting in spite of the furrow still knotting his brow. “Want to head back?”

“Yes,” Alex says, suddenly longing for the relative safety of the camp.

He turns away from the glowing grove, feeds purpose into his strides as they leave, but the prickling chill down his spine doesn’t dissipate and his blood hums, loud, the whole journey back.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention: the planet designations correspond with historical dates (as I'm sure some of you have deciphered by now - I'm only so clever).
> 
> Comments make my life - please take time to leave one if you're enjoying the story! It really does motivate me, knowing I'm not writing into a void. :) 
> 
> Also feel free to hit me up on tumblr at [wobblyspelling](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com) and check out the 'other suns' tag for visual inspiration for the story.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're moving, folks. ;)

_[…] and considering his circumstances, it is frankly amazing that he has made it this far in our selection process. A war-orphaned refugee with a reckless streak ten miles wide and yet he is poised to graduate at the top of his class._

_You have asked me, ladies and gentlemen of the board, to provide an assessment of Alexander Hamilton’s character and it is this: he is obnoxious, arrogant, and far too opinionated. He argues with professors and students alike and though his intellect is staggering, he would do well to learn how to hold his tongue, especially around his superiors. He presents a worrying lack of regard for his own safety and health. And yet, he is the most tenacious and brilliant cadet I have ever taught. Hamilton does not know the meaning of quitting or giving up—no matter how high the odds are stacked against him. And believe me, ladies and gentlemen, that more than makes up for his numerous flaws._

_He would be a fine addition to both the ISA and the Exploration Initiative and you would be greatly remiss if you denied him the chance to prove himself._

_-_ **Excerpt of a report submitted by ISA academy professor, William Livingston**

 

_ _

_“Alexander….”_

The whisper slithers into his mind, jolting him from his restless sleep. It sounds like a song he can barely remember—the letters of his name forming into notes of a melody. He sits up in the darkness of his tent, heart stuttering in the confines of his ribcage. There are no shadows lurking in the corners. Nothing seems out of the ordinary at all and yet…

“ _Alexander….”_

He doesn’t know what prompts him to get up, to fumble into his boots and his coat—a strange sense of urgency propelling him out into the night without bothering to put on his envirosuit. 

The camp is unnaturally quiet. It feels like a dead world—utterly still, the wind not even daring to whisper through the trees.

_“Alexander…”_

There. The singing voice again, resonating somewhere in the back of his mind. Almost familiar.

He turns, searching for the source and freezes when his gaze lands on the blackened swamp just beyond the tents. Hovering above the murky water is something strange and ethereal. It seems to glow like the vine samples he collected only a few hours ago, but it is green in color. Like the sky before a tornado. Like the lanterns carried by wraiths in his mother’s spooky fairytales.

Ice sinks into his skin that has nothing to do with the frigid night air.

_“Alexander…”_

It is as though the voice is emanating both from the specter and somewhere deep inside his own body.

 _Be careful,_ a different voice hisses, but he takes a step forward. Then another. He doesn’t he think he’d be able to stop his feet if he tried. His body seems to be moving entirely separate from his mind.

His leg sinks into the swamp to the knee. The specter, wraith, _thing_ continues to hover. As he moves closer, it coalesces into a human figure. A woman—her hair and clothes flowing around her like she’s underwater.

Another step. Another.

The woman moves suddenly, drifting further into the swamp. Alexander follows. And follows. And follows. The wet swamp gives way to marshy earth and the trees thin overhead, allowing brief glimpses of foreign stars. Mist drifts up from the ground, hanging in the trees and obscuring his vision. Distantly, Alex is aware that he’s left behind the established research zone, but he still can’t make himself stop. Like he’s being pulled along by an invisible rope hooked into his chest.

The mist is thicker now—almost a proper fog—and the specter stops suddenly. Here the water is up to his ankles and reeds rise to his chest on all sides, swaying with the silent wind. The trees are thin and sickly, their trunks and branches blackened as though they’ve been burned.

 _Who are you?_ Alex tries to ask but his voice is trapped. He cannot even open his mouth.

The specter turns slowly, as if it still managed to hear him, and Alex reels when he finally catches a glimpse of its face.

 _“Mama?”_ he forces out.

It can’t be. His mother is dead. His mother has been dead for sixteen years—far longer than the time he got with her. And yet it is unmistakably _her_ face staring back at him. Here: on this bizarre, god-forsaken world.

 _“Mama?”_ he says again, feeling like the words are being ripped from his lungs, burning his throat and tongue on their way out.

He shouldn’t. The first unspoken rule of the ISA is: _don’t touch weird glowing shit,_ and he’s pretty sure that specters in the middle of a swamp definitely qualify, but. He lifts a hand. Reaches out.

The specter morphs suddenly—its face grows skeletal and sunken and it opens its mouth impossibly wide, revealing chipped teeth and a blackened tongue. Its fingers shift into bony claws that latch onto his chest and sink in, past muscle and bone and marrow—straight for his heart.

He tries to scream, but no sound escapes his throat. It’s going rip his heart right from his chest and—

“ _Alexander!”_

He jolts as something else grabs onto his shoulders and shakes roughly. His vision swims black and then refocuses on John’s frantic face, inches from his own.

“John…?” he croaks and then looks around. He’s standing up to his waist in the swamp. Through the gloom, he can make out the lights of their camp a few dozen yards away.

_What…?_

His brain feels sluggish, turned inside out. Is it the illness? Is he getting worse? But that can’t be it, surely. He’s never had a dream like this one before and his nights are stalked by plenty of terrors and ghosts.

“Thank God,” John breathes, still clutching his shoulders.

“What … what happened?”

John shakes his head. “I don’t know. I heard noises and came outside to find you standing in the middle of the fucking swamp. And then you wouldn’t respond when I called you. It’s like … it’s like you were asleep. Or in trance of some kind.”

_A trance?_

Alex shivers at the cold spike of dread that stabs the base of his spine.

John notices and his expression softens, full of all that affection that Alex still doesn’t know how to handle. “C’mon. You’re freezing. Let’s get you somewhere warm.”

His legs are stiff and uncooperative, but John slings an arm around his waist and helps him wade slowly back to camp.

“Are any of the others awake?” Alex whispers, hoping no one is around to witness his strange behavior. Enough people already think he’s crazy without seeing him standing motionless in a swamp in the middle of night.

“I don’t think so,” John whispers back as he guides Alex into the small mess tent. He disappears for a moment and returns with thermal blankets. “Get out of those wet clothes. I’ll make you something to drink.”

He wants to snap a salute, but his arms are just as stiff and stubborn as his legs so he settles for an overly solemn, “sir, yes, sir.”

John rolls his eyes and just like that they’re almost back to normal.

He leaves again to give Alex privacy while he undresses, which Alex also doesn’t know how to feel about. It’s something to examine later. Right now, he has a battle with soggy clothing to win.

It takes him a ridiculously long time to strip down. The clothes cling to his skin and his fingers have started to tremble as his body warms up, but he eventually manages to deposit them into a messy pile and wrap the blankets around him so that not an inch of skin from the shoulders down is visible. He doesn’t know why he needs the layers for protection. He’s never been particularly shy about his body, especially around John, but he feels weirdly vulnerable right now.

Like he’s been turned inside out and all of his internal wounds and shadows and mess are on display.

He shudders again and squeezes his eyes shut.

_Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf…_

He misses Eliza with a sharpness that’s almost visceral, but he’s not weak enough to disturb her in the middle of the night because he needs a shoulder to cry on.

John returns a few minutes later with a fresh change of clothes under one arm and a steaming cup cradled between his hands.

“I hope you don’t mind I grabbed some stuff from your tent?” he asks, sounding almost _nervous,_ and Alex shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine. Thank you.”

John nods and extends the mug to Alex, who reluctantly worms a hand out of the cocoon of blankets to grab it.

“I’ll turn the heaters on,” John says, moving around the tent to flip switches on the various heating devices strategically placed throughout the space. “Sorry I didn’t do it sooner, but I didn’t want to heat you up too fast and have you go into shock.”

“It’s fine,” Alex repeats.

John stops in the middle of the tent, practically exuding restless energy. Alex imagines that he’d be pacing if he had a little less self-restraint.

“What _happened?”_ he blurts, turning to face Alex. “You scared me half to death.”

Alex drops his gaze to his mug. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean _I don’t know,”_ Alex repeats, hating the defensive edge creeping into his voice. “I had a strange dream. I must have sleepwalked.”

“Into the middle of the fucking swamp?” John asks, disbelieving.

“It can happen.”

“It’s never happened to _you_.”

“And what the hell do you know about me?” He regrets the words as soon as they punch free from his mouth. John flinches like he’s been slapped.

Then he smiles, bitter. “Nothing, Alexander. And that’s always been the problem, hasn’t it?”

“I’m fine,” Alex mutters, curling his fingers tighter against the cup to feel the heat on his skin, skirting the edge of pain. “Thank you for your help.”

“Yeah, whatever,” John grumbles back. “Turn the heaters off when you’re done. I’m going back to bed.”

 _Stay,_ Alex almost asks, but he doesn’t have any right to that. Not anymore.

He listens to the rustle of the tent flap closing behind John, the retreating squelch of his footsteps in the mud, and buries his face in his knees.

_Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf…_

_ _

The dream starts happening every night. Exactly the same each time: the melodious voice, the floating specter, the marshy clearing, the mist, the gaping mouth, the claws—and then waking up clutching his chest in the middle of the swamp. Only, each night it seems he’s wading further and further out.

By the fourth night, he can’t see the camp at all when he comes back to his senses.

During the day, he expands his research perimeter, trying to follow the path the spirit leads him on in his dreams, but so far, he’s been unable to locate the clearing. The weird phenomenon doesn’t seem to be happening to anyone else in the camp, which is another thing he doesn’t understand. If it’s something in the air that is giving him hallucinations, everyone should be suffering.  Or maybe they are and no one is talking about it.

(He’s certainly not disclosed his nightly adventures to his colleagues, even John.)

On the fifth and sixth nights, he tries talking to it. Asking who it is (because it can’t be his mother, for all that it wears her face and he wakes up some nights with tears in his eyes and the lingering memory of the fading warmth of her arms) and what it wants from him. But his voice never works properly. His lips move and no sound comes out. He screams with all the force he can muster, but it only makes his throat ache.

On the seventh night, he tries chaining himself up in his tent, but he can’t bear the restraints around his wrists and legs and has to take them off after only a few minutes. He tries to stay awake after that instead, drinks copious amounts of coffee and stimulants, but he still jolts to awareness in the middle of the swamp without any memory of closing his eyes. It takes him nearly half an hour to walk back to camp and he sits huddled and shivering in his tent until dawn, wondering if he’s slowly going mad—if this planet will drive them all mad or just him.

On the eighth night, he settles for his last resort and activates B.U.R.R.

“Don’t wake me up,” he instructs. “Just follow and record me if you can.”

“I wasn’t aware you were sleepwalking,” B.U.R.R. says, admonishment dripping from his voice.

“Well, I’m telling you now,” Alex huffs in irritation.

“And have you informed anyone else?”

“John knows.” Which isn’t entirely a lie. “Will you help or not?”

“Of course I’ll help,” B.U.R.R. mutters defensively and Alex should not feel a sudden rush of warmth in his chest for a stupid, annoying robot, but he definitely does. “You’re sure you don’t want me to wake you?”

“Yes. Just follow and record, okay?”

“Fine.”

Alex lies down on his sleeping roll, staring at the dark wall of his tent with aching eyes. A weight settles on his chest and he flinches, only to realize that it’s B.U.R.R., making himself comfortable and staring at him with his big yellow eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“You look distressed,” B.U.R.R. says softly.

“Last time I checked you’re not a cat.”

“No,” B.U.R.R. says like Alex is stupid. “Of course, I’m not. But I don’t have to be a fluffy animal to remind you that you’re not alone.”

Well. He has no idea what to say to _that._ Thank you, probably, but his voice has apparently died already. He settles for reaching out and patting B.U.R.R. awkwardly on the top of the head.

“I didn’t mean for you to _pet_ me.”

“I was saying thank you!”

B.U.R.R. _harrumphs_ and burrows in a little deeper. Alex glares, but he’s grateful for the pressure. For the reminder, like B.U.R.R. said, that he isn’t alone as he waits in the dark for the strange madness to take him.

“Go to sleep, Alexander,” B.U.R.R. says.

Alex laughs.

_ _

Tonight, the dream is different. Tonight, when the wraith takes him to the fog-laced clearing it doesn’t immediately attack him after it transforms into its skeletal appearance. It simply hovers, as though it’s waiting…

“What do you want with me?” Alex begs and is shocked to hear the words actually hang on the air, even though his voice remains a mere whisper.

“ _Siiccknesss,”_ the wraith hisses, still strangely melodic.

_What?_

Alex shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

The wraith lifts a bony, claw-like hand but points instead of reaching for Alex’s chest. “ _Siiicccknesss…”_

Alex turns in the direction of its finger. The trees. Blackened, as though burned long ago.

“ _Siiccknesss,”_ the wraith repeats.

“What’s sick?” Alex presses, frustrated at his own confusion. “The trees?”

“ _Dyyiinnggg,”_ the wraith whispers.

“Something’s dying?” Alex shifts his gaze back to the trees. He wonders if they would disintegrate at his touch.  “The planet? Is the planet dying?”

“ _Intruudersss_ ,” the wraith breathes in a long, freezing exhale and Alex wakes up.

He’s up to his waist in swamp water and the chattering of his own teeth is loud in his ears, nearly drowning out everything else.

“ _Damnit,”_ he snarls as B.U.R.R. drifts in close. His yellow eyes glow in the thick darkness—narrowed with blatant concern.

“Are you all right?”

“It was talking to me. And I fucking woke up,” Alex huffs, running numb fingers through his hair.

“I believe it was the cold,” B.U.R.R. says. “We should get you back to camp.”

Alex shakes his head. There are more pressing issues right now than the godawful cold. “Did you get anything?”

“My scanners picked up some kind of atmospheric disturbance, but I couldn't determine what it was.”

Alex pauses in the middle of wading towards solid ground. “Wait. It’s _real?_ You detected it?”

B.U.R.R. crosses his arms. “You haven’t explained to me what exactly you’re seeing on these excursions. So how should I know?”

“A wraith,” Alex explains impatiently. God, could it be that he’s not actually going crazy after all? That this doesn’t just exist solely in his steadily unraveling mind? “Or something like that. Glowing green, vaguely looks like a woman, floats around and then turns all disfigured and creepy.”

B.U.R.R. blinks slow and deliberate. “I … didn’t detect anything like _that._ But something was definitely wrong.”

Not exactly the confirmation he was hoping for, but at this point he’ll accept anything. “Fine. We can examine the data back at camp. How far out are we?”

“About three and a half miles,” B.U.R.R. says.

_Wait…_

“Seriously?”

“You walked for over an hour.”

Alex groans and pretends the shiver that runs through him is from the cold. They haven’t run into anything dangerous (besides ugly poisonous birds) so far, but he still doesn’t like the idea that he wandered in a trance so far away from camp.

“Remind me to arm myself next time,” he mutters and starts the slow, miserable trek back.

B.U.R.R. settles onto his shoulder again and presses a hand to his cheek. “You’re freezing.”

“I noticed.”

“Perhaps we should stop and build a fire.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This can’t be good for your lungs.”

“Will you _quit?”_ Alex snaps. “I’m _fine.”_

Of course, because his body hates him, he starts coughing immediately after that—so violent he has to brace his hands on his knees to keep himself upright. B.U.R.R., the bastard, hovers in silent judgment the whole time.

Once it’s finally subsided he says, “you don’t _sound_ fine.”

“Let’s just get back to camp? Please?”

B.U.R.R. softens at the note of vulnerability that creeps into his voice and Alex isn’t sure whether to be grateful or furious over it. He settles for focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and trying to rub circulation back into his arms instead.

They’ve been walking for what feels like a week when B.U.R.R. suddenly says, “stop.”

Alex freezes, snapping to full alertness at the urgency in B.U.R.R.’s voice. “What is it?”

“We’re almost to the camp, but there are no lights.” B.U.R.R. says, pointing into the misty dark. “We should be able to see them by now.”

Fear promptly knifes Alex straight in the stomach and he scrambles forward, ignoring B.U.R.R.’s whispered protests and his own instincts screaming at him to slow down. All he can picture is fire and smoke and blood. Death in all its vengeful fury.

_Please, please, please…_

He sloshes through the last stretch of shallow water and stumbles to a halt at the edge of what was once their camp. It looks like a war zone now: tents shredded to ribbons, shattered pieces of equipment and other debris littered around, slowly being subsumed by the marshy earth. Alex chokes on an exhale and forces his feet forward into the wreckage. He wants to call out, to scream John’s name until his voice gives out, but he isn’t sure he’d be able to get words past the stone that has lodged in the back of his throat.

Something buzzes by his ear. John’s beetle, he realizes with coiling dread, making its escape into the swamp.

His own samples have been reduced to nothing, though he can still make out the distinctive purple glow of the vines.  

And lying next to them is Green, in a widening pool of blood.

“God,” B.U.R.R. murmurs, appearing at his shoulder. “He’s been torn apart.”

Were he not so used to gore and death, Alex is sure the sight of Green’s body—throat ripped out and stomach gaping open—would have him on his knees vomiting in the grass. As it is, he backs away without another glance and scans the camp, trying to located any other bodies.

_Please not John. Please not John. Please, please, please not John..._

“Alexander, we should go,” B.U.R.R. says nervously.

“We have to check,” Alex says, clipped and leaving no room for argument. “I need to make sure.”

He moves toward the tattered remnants of John’s tent, heart climbing up his throat. Five steps away, a deafening, blood-curdling roar rents the air. Alex spins around and freezes in terror at the creature that stomps into the clearing.

It looks almost like an ancient raptor from Earth, though skeletal like the wraith—knobs of bone running down its back and tail. He can’t see its eyes, or if it has any at all as its mouth and teeth take up the majority of its face. More bone forms a crest that rises from the top of its head and its hands and feet are adorned with sharp claws.

It roars again. The sound shakes the earth.

 _Swamp monster,_ Alex thinks hysterically and then it lunges. Lightning fast. All teeth and claws.

Alex tries to move but _too slow, too slow, too slow-_

It gets his leg. Sinks right through fabric and skin and sinew to bone.

Alex screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like all authors on this site, I definitely crave feedback. So if you guys are enjoying this story so far, please take the time to comment - it would absolutely make my day. Especially because a lot of people here have been really quiet so far and it kind of leaves me floundering. Are you guys enjoying this? Is it interesting? Is it worth me continuing? I really don’t know. I like this story a lot, but I get that it’s very niche and if it’s not grabbing your attention or engaging you, I really don’t want to keep writing. So please, dear readers, throw me a bone here (I humbly beg you.)
> 
> I can also be found on tumblr at [wobblyspelling](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com). Be sure to check out the ‘other suns’ tag over there for visual inspiration for the story. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone for their wonderful feedback regarding the last chapter! It meant the world and really encouraged me to keep going. <3
> 
> Also, as a warning: this chapter contains semi-graphic depictions of injury.

_Day 3 : Alexander went into the swamp again tonight. I woke him two nights ago from what seemed to be a kind of trance. He refused to give me any answers about why he was sleepwalking in the middle of the night ~~per usual~~ , but the pattern is continuing. I left him alone, unsure if he wanted interference, but. I’m worried. _

_Day 4: He’s wading further out every night but he doesn’t mention it all during the day. I checked his lab this morning, but I can’t find anything that might be causing it. As far as I can tell, Alex is the only one affected so it can’t be atmospheric. Still uncertain about whether I should tell someone from command. _

_Day 5: The sleepwalking seems to be intensifying. Alexander looks exhausted every morning. I’m technically his superior officer, I could order him to tell me. But I want to save that for a last resort. ~~Besides I doubt he’ll listen, anyway. Stubborn idiot.~~_

_Day 6: ~~Why the fuck won’t he just talk to me? Why the fuck doesn’t he ever talk to me?~~ Sleepwalking is still continuing. I’ve tried to observe from a distance and it definitely seems like some kind of trance state, but I don’t have the right equipment for atmospheric monitoring. Asking B.U.R.R. might be worth a shot. If he’ll help. Or maybe I should call Eliza. ~~Though Alex would never forgive me.~~_

_Day 7:  Alex is still in his lab. I haven’t seen him this exhausted since the fucking Academy and if he thinks he’s hiding that cough he’s not being fucking subtle. I’ve checked with Green, Harvendall, and Cavendar, but none of them are displaying any symptoms of illness or having trouble sleeping at night. It must be something in the flora, but I don’t know WHAT. I think I’m going to take some samples from Alex’s lab and see if I can figure anything out. I have no fucking clue what else to try since ~~that fucking asshole refuses to talk to anyone about anything and~~_

_Day 8: Alex took B.U.R.R. with him tonight, which I hope is a good sign. Cornering B.U.R.R. later and asking for the data is the current plan of action. Barring that I’m invoking fucking rank I don’t care how badly Alex takes it. Also, it has to be the vines. I’ve done some preliminary testing and it seems that they contain potential_

_-_ **From the personal log of Lieutenant John Laurens**

__ __

Alex screams.

The pain whites out his vision, consuming everything, and the creature’s roar is deafening.

 _I’m going to die._ It’s a thought he’s had many times over the course of his life, but never with this much furious despair. _I’m going to die._

He tries to roll away, but another swipe of the creature’s claws rakes fire across his side and he nearly bites through his own tongue to keep from screaming again. It has him pinned now—maw gaping over him and _I’m going to die I’m going die Eliza John I’m going to die—_

Something slams into the ground next to him. Whirs. A clap of thunder—no wait, a gun firing—what…? He shoves the pain away and blinks up to see B.U.R.R. standing over him—body fully digitized and arm extended, firing a rain a bullets at the monster. Most of them seem to ricochet off its bony exoskeleton, but one hits. A spray of blood. It emits a furious shriek of pain and staggers back, tail swinging wildly. B.U.R.R. gives chase, still firing.  

 _Get up,_ a voice hisses in the back of Alex’s half-stunned mind. _Now._

There are weapons in the mess tent, five feet to his left. He rolls over and presses his palms flat against the muddy earth. Pushes himself up onto his knees. A fresh wave of pain crashes over him, leaving him paralyzed and gasping for several precious moments.

_Get **up.** You’ve survived worse than this. _

He pushes off and gets his good leg under him. A surge of adrenaline and he’s standing. He’s standing.

_The weapons. Five feet. Go._

The first step is agony, the second even worse. He clasps a hand to his side and feels blood ooze out from between his fingers, hot against his skin. The _ratatat_ of B.U.R.R.’s gun pierces his mind like bullets of sound— _fire and smoke and **run** before they find you fire death no escape no escape you’re going to die you’re going to die Alex you’re going to die—_

**_No_ ** _._

A third step. A fourth. Five feet yawns like an ocean. He can almost see the weapons cache just inside the tattered flap.

Metal clangs, the creature growls, and he takes a fifth, limping step. A sixth.

_Almost there._

He parts the flap with a shaking hand and collapses to his knees in front of the weapons cache, pressing his thumb to the reader and waiting with baited breath for the telltale _beep_ and the click of locks opening. He can’t wield a rifle or a machine gun in his condition so he settles for the hand cannon. Hopefully the recoil won’t be too much for him to handle. Hopefully one good shot will be enough.

He flips it off stun and levers himself upright again. His vision swims and the pain wails through his nerves, but he grits his teeth against it.

Later. He can fall apart later.

He staggers back outside just in time to see the monster land a vicious blow with its spiky tail, sending B.U.R.R. staggering back. His body starts to disintegrate, shrinking to his usual ball.  

Shit.

Alex pulls the safety back and raises the gun just as the monster’s head turns towards him. Fires.

The recoil slams through his body like a punch to the gut, but he manages to stay on his feet. And the shot hits. Shatters through the exoskeleton and punches a gaping hole in the monster’s side. It shrieks and reels. Alex struggles to lift his arm and fire again, but with a final roar it turns and flees into the swamp—the shadows swallowing it whole.

The gun slips from Alex’s suddenly limp fingers as the adrenaline evaporates.

“Alexander!” B.U.R.R. shouts, sounding very far away, and then there is nothing but darkness and the earth rushing up to meet him.

 

_ _

 

“Are you afraid of dying?” Maria asks him one night, over a game of chess.

“Are you?” he fires back and captures one of her pawns.

She looks up at him, the dim lights of the cafeteria casting shadows on her face. “I didn’t used to be.”

“But you are now?”

She takes a rook. “Yes, I think so.”

He suspects he already knows the answer but, “what changed?”

Her smile is sad and soft at the edges. “What do you think?”

He thinks of her fingers knotted with Peggy’s and the gentle, affectionate look in her eyes whenever Peggy laughs or launches into one of her dramatic stories. “I see.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

He stares down at the board and thinks of the shape of Eliza’s smile and Eliza’s hand in his own and the cadence of her voice soothing away the darkness at night. Further back to John with his jagged edges and his fire and the sharp ache in Alex's own chest that he didn’t know how to handle.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

The look she gives him is far too knowing.

 

_ _

 

Consciousness creeps back in slowly, one piece of awareness at a time: mud cold and wet beneath his cheek, something tugging harsh on the back of his jacket, and _pain,_ white-hot and nearly all-consuming.

He groans, eyes still closed, and the tugging stops.

“Alexander?”

… B.U.R.R.

Right.

He heaves himself onto his back, breath hitching loud from the pain. B.U.R.R. is predictably hovering over him—anxious yellow eyes filling his vision. For a long moment, they just stare at his each other while Alex tries to get his aching throat to form words. Everything fucking _hurts_ and he’s so _cold._

“I brought the first aid kit,” B.U.R.R. says when he seems to realize that Alex can’t speak. “But I’m not sure I can bandage you myself.”

Alex wheezes what he hopes sounds like an affirmation and raises a heavy arm. “Help … me up?”

B.U.R.R. grips his sleeve and pulls with a strength that belies his diminutive size, hauling Alex up into a sitting position. Alex sinks his teeth hard into the inside of his cheek as another scream surges up his throat. Fuck, _fuck_ it hurts. B.U.R.R. has brought a light over. Set it next to them on the ground and turned it toward Alex so when he looks down, he can see the blood gleam dark and illuminated.

He forces himself to stay calm and take stock—pretend this is another damaged body he’s looking at and not his own.

Three long furrows on his side that will definitely need stitches, but don’t look too deep. And his leg … there is a chunk torn out of it where the monster sunk in and _ripped._ He can see a flash of bone through the blood and blows out a long, shivering breath.

_You’ve survived worse than this._

“Bring me the first aid kit.”

B.U.R.R. lugs it over and flips it open. The first thing Alex reaches for is the hypo with pain medication, but his fingers are slick and trembling and he can’t get it positioned right against his body and hold his ruined shirt up at the same time. A snarl of frustration is building in his throat when B.U.R.R. reaches over and plucks the hypo from his hand.

“This much I can do,” B.U.R.R. huffs. “Calm down.”

“I _am_ calm,” Alex snaps just as B.U.R.R. plunges the needle into his side. The relief is almost immediate, numbing the wound, and Alex sighs, shaky.

B.U.R.R. refills the hypo does the same for his leg, though it takes two injections (all the medication they have) before the pain has finally subsided and Alex’s head starts to clear.

“I need to stitch my side, but we’ll have to use sealing gel on my leg,” he says. The wound is too big and deep for a simple needle and thread, but the gel should prevent any further blood loss and keep the wound protected until he can make it back to the ship.

He can already feel Maria’s displeasure, picture her furious frown and the set of her hands against her hips as she arches an eyebrow and calls him an idiot in the most scathing tone she can muster.

Absurdly, it makes him want to laugh.

The light sputters ominously but holds. It still isn’t enough to see by and he’s not going to be able to stitch and hold a mirror at the same time.

B.U.R.R. floats back up next to his head. “What do you need?”

“A mirror,” Alex says. “And a steady light.”

B.U.R.R. darts off in the direction of the ruined tents and Alex braces himself on his arm, letting his eyes slip shut. Worry for John and the others is clanging around in the back of his mind—that they might be lost out in the swamp, that he might still find their bodies in the tents, ripped to pieces just like Green…

_Don’t think about it._

Dwelling will only lead to madness. Right now, he has to survive.

B.U.R.R. returns with a mirror clasped between his hands just as the light gives one last flicker and dies, plunging the swamp back into darkness. Alex curses under his breath, but B.U.R.R. blinks twice and beams suddenly burst from his eyes like headlights.

“Here,” he says. “Light and a mirror.”

“Have you always been able to do that?” Alex asks.

“Yes,” B.U.R.R. says, condescending. “Of course, I have.”

“Then, why _haven’t you?”_

“Watching you stumble around in the dark was much more amusing.”

“Fucking robot,” Alex mutters and reaches for the needle and thread. “Come over here.”

B.U.R.R. huffs, but flies over to Alex’s wounded side. He gets the position of the mirror right after several adjustments and then holds himself impressively still. The circumstances still aren’t ideal and the job is rushed and messy, but at the end of it all three of the gashes are stitched shut.

“Okay,” Alex says, holding the end of the thread in his still-unsteady hand. “Can you…?” B.U.R.R. ties off the final stitch. “Thank you.”

“You shouldn’t have rushed in like that,” B.U.R.R. admonishes.

“Shut up,” Alex fires back and fishes a roll of bandages from the kit. “Just help me. Please?”

B.U.R.R. softens and Alex holds one end of the bandage pressed against his skin while B.U.R.R. flies around him in a circle to wrap his torso. It probably looks absolutely ridiculous. If John was here he’d be laughing his head off...

_Don’t think about it._

“There,” B.U.R.R. declares, fastening the end of the bandage. “All done.”

“With that one,” Alex says and braces himself to deal with his leg.

He cuts away the remnants of his pants around the wound with the knife from the first aid kit, but B.U.R.R. takes the bottle of disinfect before he can grab it.

“I’ve got this, too.”

And he pours it straight onto the wound.

Even with the numbing agent, Alex still jolts and cries out at the sudden, sharp bolt of pain that radiates up his leg. B.U.R.R. mutters a quiet apology and hands Alex the packet of sealing gel.

“You’re the worst,” Alex says through gritted teeth as he tears it open and begins to spread it carefully across his ravaged skin.

“I’m helping save your life,” B.U.R.R. points out. “Besides, it’s better to do things like that without warning.”

“If Maria told you that she was lying.”

He examines the encased wound carefully but it seems the gel is holding fine.

“I checked the other tents,” B.U.R.R. says suddenly. “There were no other bodies.”

Alex shudders at the potent relief that crashes through him and nods. “Good.” His voice cracks and breaks. He coughs and tries again. “That’s good. Thank you.”

John and the others are still alive out there somewhere. Until he sees bodies that is what he’s going to choose to believe. For now, he sets them reluctantly aside to focus on a plan of action. He needs a change of clothes and his envirosuit for added protection. Then he needs to check if the comms are working so he can radio in a distress signal. Once he’s been extracted, they can mount a search party for the others.

It’s probably best not to stay in the camp, either. Just in case more of those things are drawn to the smell of blood or something.

But that can come later. First, he needs to stand up.

It happens in starts and stops, but he manages. Changing his clothes takes even longer, even with B.U.R.R.’s help fastening all the straps on his envirosuit. He’s exhausted by the time he stumbles over to the supply tent and the numbing agent is slowly wearing off—the pain creeping steadily closer, seeping further and further into his nerves and veins with every step.

The portable comm station, perched on a table near back the of the tent, is intact, but when he tries to send out a signal there is only static.

“ _Fuck,”_ he snarls.

“What’s wrong?” B.U.R.R. asks from outside and Alex plays the static feedback for him.

B.U.R.R. drifts into the tent. “I … might be able to help if you plug me into the comm station.”

“What?”

“I can get a direct message through to Eliza and my signal will be more powerful.”

Once again, Alex can feel near-hysterical laughter bubbling up in his throat. “And is this _also_ something you’ve always been able to do but never mentioned?”

“Yes,” B.U.R.R. admits, actually sounding a little sheepish. “But it’s meant for severe emergencies only.”

“Well I guess this fucking counts,” Alex mutters and plugs B.U.R.R. in.

For a long, agonizing moment nothing happens, and then the crackling static is interrupted by a familiar voice.

“B.U.R.R. … you … what…”

“Eliza,” Alex breathes and picks up the receiver, frantically trying to adjust the frequency.

_Come on come on come on…_

The static finally clears and Eliza comes through, sounding half-frantic. “B.U.R.R is that you? What’s going on? Is everything all right?”

“Eliza,” Alex repeats, louder this time, and is surprised by the strength of the emotion welling in his chest—how good it is to hear her voice after so long.

“Alexander?”

“Yes.” Alex closes his eyes and lets his shoulders slump, bracing a hand against the table to keep himself upright. God, he’s so exhausted. “It’s me.”

“Is something wrong? Are you all right?”

“The camp got attacked. Some kind of swamp creature,” he says, striving to keep the pain and weariness out of his voice. “Green is dead and the others are missing. I’m injured.”

“How injured?” Eliza presses. “And don’t lie to me, Alex.”

She knows him too well.

“Bad,” he admits quietly. “It’s bad.”

She swears loudly to herself. “Can you make it to an extraction point?”

“Yes,” he says, ignoring B.U.R.R.’s disbelieving glare. “Just give me coordinates.”

“I’m transmitting them to your HUD,” Eliza says. “Turn on the tracking beacon in your suit and I’ll meet you there.”

Alex obeys the order, tapping his wrist control. A small little dot flashes a few times in the corner of his HUD before vanishing and right after comes a string of numbers and a map. “I’ve got them.”

“Good. I’m on my way.” She pauses and it’s heavy. Alex longs absurdly to be able to reach through the comm station and take her hand. “Please be careful.”

“I will, I promise.”

She hangs up and as soon as silence fills the tent, B.U.R.R. says, “are you sure about this?”

“We don’t have a choice. I need open ground for extraction and staying here with a bloodstained corpse might just attract more of them.”

“Oh, but we’re fine wandering out into a potential swamp full of them.”

Alex glares. B.U.R.R. glares right back.

“I’ll be _fine._ I’ve dealt with worse than this. Just help me pack.”

B.U.R.R. sighs—a harsh explosion of sound—and unplugs himself. “Fine. I can get most of the supplies. Wait here.”

Alex doesn’t appreciate being babied, but he can see the importance of preserving his strength so he waves an agreeing hand and sinks into a chair as B.U.R.R. flies out of the tent. Even though the extraction point isn’t far, getting there is probably going on the list of Top Ten Worst Experiences of His Life.

Honestly, fuck this planet.

He’s drifting in and out of awareness when B.U.R.R. returns with a pack dangling from his hands.

“Food, water, and other emergency supplies. I also included a pistol and the hand cannon,” he says as he helps carefully fit it over Alex’s shoulders.

Fortunately, it isn’t heavy and Alex fastens it into place with a nod of thanks. Straps the pistol and its holster to his good leg. 

“Okay. Let’s go.”

He pauses by Green’s body on their slow way out of the camp. And it’s a stupid, sentimental waste of time, but he can’t help covering it with fabric ripped from a nearby tent.

That done, he leaves the camp without a backward glance, hoping he’ll never have to lay eyes on it again.

 

_ _

 

They’re halfway to the extraction point when the fog starts to roll in. Alex freezes, watching it gather between the thinning trees and hover just above the marshy ground, catching on the pale morning light.

“What’s wrong?” B.U.R.R. asks.

“The fog,” Alex murmurs, half expecting to see a wraith materialize out of the shadows. “It’s the same…”

He turns on his heel and limps closer to one of the trees. It’s entirely black, but not burnt he realizes with a jolt. No, the bark itself is leaking a viscous liquid that sticks to his glove when he touches it.  It’s even coating the leaves far above his head, as though the tree is bleeding or drowning or slowly being consumed.

“Dying,” he whispers and spins in a slow circle. All the trees here are the same, though this isn’t the clearing from his dreams.

“What?” B.U.R.R. asks.

“Take a sample of this,” Alex says, holding up his glove, mind racing. Maybe this is tied to the anomaly he’s been witnessing in all his plant samples. Maybe they _are_ all infected and this is the late stages of it? Or…

“Is now really the time?” B.U.R.R. says, dubious.

“Just do it,” Alex snaps and B.U.R.R. rolls his eyes, but fishes a tiny vial from his storage compartment and scrapes some of the substance in.

“There. Happy?”

“Yes.”

“So, we can continue to the extraction point before you collapse?”

“I’m not going to collapse,” Alex mutters rebelliously, even though he feels very close to it.

The fog is thickening—so dense he can barely see a foot in front of him—and with it comes a deep sense of unease.

“But you’re right,” he says, turning away from the trees. “We should keep moving.”

B.U.R.R. snorts. “Good to see you can still be sensible.”

Alex ignores him in favor of his forcing his aching, battered body to take another limping step.

 

_ _

 

Less than two minutes later, he’s relying solely on his HUD to guide him. It says the extraction point is less than a quarter of a mile away, but if this fucking fog doesn’t clear they’re going to have a problem, especially because it seems to be interfering with his comms again.

His wounds are also screaming and his vision is starting to grey at the edges, so he pauses to lean against a large boulder and catch his breath.

B.U.R.R. hovers anxiously, but doesn’t ask him if he’s all right, which Alex appreciates.

“I think we’re almost there.”

Alex opens his mouth to answer, but something starts flashing on his HUD. A distress signal. Coming from close by. A few hundred yards away…

_John._

He pushes off the tree, hit with a surge of adrenaline and changes course.  B.U.R.R. shouts after him, but he pays no attention, going as fast as his damaged leg will allow him. The signal keeps flashing, persistent.

“Alexander, where the hell are you going?”

“Distress signal,” he calls over his shoulder. “Might be one of the others.”

“But…”

“Eliza will wait,” he insists. The distance is closing on his HUD, only a hundred yards.

His leg nearly gives out, but he grits his teeth and keeps going.

Sixty yards. The fog is still so thick and the ground is starting to shift, incline downward.

Forty yards. Thirty. Twenty.

“Alexander, _wait!”_ B.U.R.R. shouts just as HUD flashes a warning and the ground disappears in front of him.

He staggers to a halt at the edge of a deep ravine, heart stuttering in his chest as a few pieces of earth break loose and disappear into the mist below. The distress signal is coming from somewhere down there, ten yards away. He sets his HUD to scan for lifeforms and paces slowly along the edge, trying to get closer.

_There._

A body … and a ship. He can just make out the red flash of warning lights. It’s one of their shuttles.

Terror smashes through his ribcage and wraps freezing fingers around his heart. _No. No no no no…_

“Eliza!” He shouts as loud as he can. His comms are still static and his scanners aren’t telling him how deep the ravine is.

“You think it’s her?” B.U.R.R. asks in alarm.

“I don’t know,” he says, still walking.

It looks like the ground is evening out at little, turning into more of a slope instead of a straight drop, but it’s still hard to tell where the bottom is.

Screw it.

“Alexander…” B.U.R.R. says in warning as Alex sits down on the slope and starts to push himself off.

He doesn’t bother with a reply. His world has narrowed down to those flashing lights and the fading pulse he can read on his HUD.

He kicks himself into a slide that quickly devolves into uncontrolled tumbling when his foot catches on a root. The earth and sky pinwheel together for what feels like an eternity before he hits the bottom hard enough to crack his helmet and tear open the stitches in his side. He screams the fresh agony into the dirt—whole body shuddering—but immediately forces himself upright, staggering forward with a hand clapped over the bleeding wound.

His thoughts are drumbeat: _Eliza Eliza Eliza Eliza._

The shuttle is lying on its side, outer hull crumpled as though it's been smashed in by a giant fist. Overhead, he can see broken branches and that it slid for several feet before coming to a stop, carving a wide furrow into the earth in its wake.

_“Eliza!”_

Still no response.

 

He pries open the dented door and clambers inside, flicking on his sputtering helmet light. It takes him a moment to find her, but all the air leaves his lungs when he does: crumpled on the floor near the cockpit—most likely thrown from the seat in the crash. He crawls closer and lets out a half-sob of horror when he sees that a piece of the bulkhead has ripped free and punctured her leg, pinning her to the floor on her back.

_Nonononono…._

“Eliza,” he hiccups, gathering her into his lap. She’s unconscious—blood streaked down the right half of her face from a nasty gash on her temple, and her vitals are weak.

_Please no I can’t lose her I can’t lose her…_

“Oh no,” B.U.R.R. says from the doorway to the shuttle, rushing inside to hover over them.

“I can’t move her,” Alex says, stroking trembling fingers through her hair. “And even if I could, I’m not strong enough to carry her out of here.” He looks up at B.U.R.R., glad that the helmet will hide the naked desperation he knows is written all over his face.  

“I can’t digitize,” B.U.R.R. says in response to his unasked question. “I don’t have enough power, I’m sorry.”

He suspected as much, but it’s still a blow. He nods, tears clogging up the words he wants to say.

“There should be a flare gun,” B.U.R.R. says. “I can set one off.”

“Do it,” Alex says, because it’s better than nothing. Though if Eliza’s shuttle crashed because of the fog, any rescue team is going to run into the same problem.

B.U.R.R. goes to look for the emergency kit stored in the cockpit while Alex unfastens his helmet and shifts Eliza into a more comfortable position on his lap. His side is still bleeding sluggishly and his leg is a mass of pain. Unconsciousness is lurking just around the corner.

“I found the gun,” B.U.R.R. declares and heads outside to light it.

Alex curls himself around Eliza, resting his forehead against hers. From beyond the shuttle there is a bang and the high pitch whine of the flare rocketing into the sky.

He lets his eyes close—focused on Eliza’s shallow breath against his cheek.

_Please stay alive. Please…._

It’s his last, frantic thought before the darkness sweeps in and pulls him under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my life - please take time to leave one if you're enjoying the story! 
> 
> Also feel free to hit me up on tumblr at [wobblyspelling](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumbr.com) and check out the 'other suns' tag for visual inspiration for the story.


	7. Chapter 7

_“For me, it is far better to grasp the Universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring.”_

_  
― **Carl Sagan**_

 

PART THREE: THE ANCIENTS

 

_ _

_“Camp Three to Delaware, come in Delaware. Camp … Delaware … in. We … attacked … by some … creature and Green … fled into … Hamilton is still … please respond … need immediate … please respond…”_

_-_ **Received message from Lieutenant John Laurens, 0500**

_­_ _ _

 

“Alexander, do you have a moment?”

He stops in the middle of the corridor, bag full of books slapping hard against his side. He’s technically late to a meeting with the linguistics department, but it’s Eliza asking and his stomach has started fluttering violent and fast whenever he’s near her. It’s a strange sensation and he’s not sure what it means or why it’s happening _now_ when they’ve already spent four years in the Academy together.

Yes, they talk more now that they’re not completely buried in books and tests and projects. Now that they’re both living on the International Space Station, only two halls apart from each other instead of across a massive base. Now that she is apprenticing in the engineering department (working on the research ships that they will crew when their Initiative station launches in six months) and he’s splitting his time between working as a translator and a botany apprenticeship. But it’s still Eliza. She isn’t really a stranger.

“Sure,” he finds himself saying.

She wrings her hands, looking uncharacteristically nervous. Her hair is piled up in its usual bun and her fingers are streaked with black. She must have just come from work. “I was wondering if you'd like to get dinner.”

He blinks, thrown. “Dinner?”

“Yes.”

And he doesn’t want to presume, but. “Like … a date?”

The corner of her mouth twitches up in a smile. “Yes. Like a date.”

He blinks again. There must be something he missed. They’re friendly, him and Eliza, always have been, and he’s admired her engineering skills from the moment he met her, but they’ve never been _close._ Besides, he knows what her last name means and he knows the reputation he’s probably accumulated in the past four and half years: opinionated, stubborn, never shuts up, too ambitious, orphan, bastard. Not to mention the awful rumors that spread like wildfire after his and John’s messy end and took months to subside.

He’s pretty sure, when you weigh all those things together, that Eliza is far too good for him. “With me?”

Her smile widens. “No, with the invisible person standing behind you.”

That startles a small, answering smile onto his lips. But he still doesn’t know what to say. She’s knocked all his words clean out of him. “I…”

Eliza rubs her palms against her pants. “I’m sorry, am I being too forward?”

“No, no, it’s just … unexpected.”

Eliza shakes her head. “For _you,_ perhaps.” At the dumbstruck expression that is probably on his face, she sighs. “I’ve liked you for a long time, Alexander. You’ve just never noticed.”

Oh. Is that … is she angry with him? “I…”

Her eyes widen and she takes a hurried step forward. “That wasn’t an insult! I’m sorry. Just an observation. You were so intense in the Academy. You only had your eyes fixed forward. So, I figured that at some point I probably needed to just … plant myself in front of you.”

She spreads her arms, an endearing _ta-da,_ motion. “So here I am. Sorry it’s taken me so long to work up the nerve. And that the location is less than ideal.” She laughs, a little self-deprecating. “This was a more romantic scenario in my head.”

He swallows, thoughts swirling furiously:

_You should find someone better. You don’t want me. You won’t want me once you get to know me._

But he likes Eliza. He always has. And his stomach is _still_ fluttering. And it’s only dinner. What harm can dinner do?

“I’d like that,” he finally gets out. “Dinner.”

Eliza’s grin is blinding, brighter than he thinks he’s ever seen her wear. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Pick me up?”

“Yes,” she says, backing away down the corridor. “Wear something nice.”

He laughs, still off-balance but thrilled about it now, and nods. She vanishes around the corner, leaving him alone in the quiet hallway. He stands there for a moment, still wondering if he’s dreaming, before he remembers the meeting that he is now _epically_ late for and swears loudly under his breath.

 _Oh well,_ he thinks as he adjusts his bag and breaks into a sprint. _It’s worth it._

Dinner with Eliza.

For some reason the very thought of it makes him giddy.

 

_ _

 

He wakes up half-expecting to be cradling Eliza’s corpse in the cold dark of the crashed shuttle, but he’s lying on something soft.

He’s lying on something soft and what looks like lantern light is casting flickering shadows on the walls and high ceiling. He blinks, struggling to get his eyes to adjust to the dim light. It looks like he’s in some kind of cavern.  The air is sharp with the scent of medicinal herbs and his envirosuit is gone. He can feel the rasp of rough bandages against his bare skin, but his focus immediately narrows to the strange vine tying his wrist to the rail of the bed.

His other arm is similarly restrained, keeping him pinned on his back, and panic smashes into his brain like a wrecking ball, shattering all his thoughts.

_Helpless helpless tied down can’t move I like you like this you said whatever I wanted remember so lie still behave be quiet can’t you take it you said whatever I wanted you agreed can’t move pain pain stop no no no nonononono—_

He tugs frantically, trying to rip his arms free, but the vines only tighten, digging into his skin, and he gasps, loud in the heavy quiet. Dimly, he’s aware of a clattering sound and approaching footsteps, but he still jolts frantically when a hand presses down on his shoulder, forcing him to still.

_Whatever I wanted whatever I whatever I wanted remember—_

_Stop. Stop. Focus._

He gulps in a heaving breath and forces his protesting eyes back open. Freezes when he sees what’s hovering over him.

It’s an alien species that he’s never encountered before: grey-blue skin and black eyes with glowing white pupils. His hair is a pale silver and he has male humanoid facial features, but an elongated neck encased in some kind of metal—a circle of glowing blue light in the center of it. He's dressed in loose, dark clothing and carved into the skin of his face, shoulders, and chest are pale blue lines that also seem to glow. The pattern is mesmerizing and most likely significant in some way, but Alex has no idea what that could be.

Though the alien is bent over Alex’s bed, he can tell that he’s tall. Perhaps not reaching Lafayette’s impressive seven feet, but still significantly taller than him.

When he speaks, he doesn’t move his lips and his voice seems to come not from his mouth but the blue circle in his neck. It’s a deep, melodic language—the same cadence as the wraith in the fog-covered swamp—and Alex can’t understand a single word of it.

Maybe he’s still dreaming.

The alien speaks again, repeating the same phrase as before, and Alex shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

The alien cocks his head and says something different. He’s still keeping Alex pinned to the bed with one hand, thought the vines have loosened their grip. They must respond to movement.

 _Calm,_ Alex reminds himself.

“I can’t understand,” he repeats and emphasizes with a shake of his head.

The alien lets out a sound that Alex thinks is a sigh and backs away, removing his hand. It’s an effort not to immediately resume his struggles, but Alex forces himself to remain quiet. His head is spinning, full of questions.

Where is Eliza? Where is B.U.R.R. Are there more of these aliens? Is this planet inhabited? And if so why didn’t the scanners pick up sentient life? What’s happened to the rest of the crew. To John?

The alien returns, holding something in his hand. As he steps closer, Alex realizes that it’s a syringe, and can’t help wrenching his arms again, trying to escape. The vines tighten viciously and his next breath is a sobbing exhale.

“No, no _don’t…”_

The alien plunges the syringe into his neck.

Static crackles through his nerves and his vision whites out for a moment but there is no pain and no lasting effects. His body and eyesight return to normal within a few seconds.

“What...?” he gasps.

The alien touches the circle at his neck. It flares bright and fades again.

“Now can you understand me?” The voice is still deep, the cadence still melodious, but the words are definitely in English now.

“ _W-what?”_ Alex repeats, stunned.

The alien looks impatient. “I said, can you understand me?”

“Y-yes. How…?”

The alien waves a dismissive hand. “Unimportant. What is your name?”

“Alexander Hamilton, what’s yours?”

“Lie still, Alexander Hamilton,” the alien says. “The vines will cause you pain every time you struggle and you are already injured.”

Alex is still reeling—so far off-balance it feels like the ground has completely disappeared from beneath his feet. “Who are you? Where am I?”

“We will be the ones asking the questions,” the alien says. “But you may call me Ailmar.”

“Ailmar,” Alexander repeats. “Is there another human here? A woman?”

Ailmar blinks his dark eyes and inclines his head. “Yes, another human was brought from the wreckage of your ship.”

“Is she all right? Please can I see her?”

“She is stable, though her injuries are severe. And I must alert the elders that you have awoken. You may see her later, if they permit it.”

Alex wants to argue, but he can see that Ailmar isn’t going to be moved _._ He swallows the words back down and nods. “I understand.”

“Good,” Ailmar says and turns away, robes swishing. “I will return shortly. There are guards posted at the top of the stairs, so I suggest not causing any trouble.”

“I understand,” Alex repeats and Ailmar disappears again. Alex listens to the sound of his receding footsteps, the creak of a door opening and closing, and then counts to five slowly in his head before shifting.

His arm is tied to the bed in such a way that if he pushes himself up a little, he’ll be able to reach the vines with his teeth. The ones around his other hand tighten from the movement, but he ignores the pain and the ache in his side and leg. Like hell is he going to just lie here and wait for them to decide what to do with him.

He needs to find Eliza.

It’s slower going than he would have liked—the vines are tough and thick—but he finally manages to fray them enough to wrench his hand free. He sags back against the bed, panting and amazed that his other hand hasn’t fallen off with how tight the vines have constricted. The second cuff is easier than the first, though, now that he has more freedom of movement. He can worm his fingers under the vines and stretch them out. Combining that with his teeth has him free in only a few minutes. 

He sits up slowly, wincing at the sharp spike of pain that runs through his side. His hair has been taken down, falling around his shoulders, and he’s been dressed in some kind of loose, flowing shirt. The soft fabric nearly drowns him. The pants have been tied at the waist and rolled up to his knees, exposing the bandages wrapped around his wounded leg. He can feel the telltale tug of stitches when he moves again and he shivers, trying not think about strangers operating on him. Undressing him.

To escape the way his skin is crawling, he takes stock of his surroundings. Definitely a cavern. Dimly lit. It’s hard to see anything beyond the small pool of light cast from a lantern on the table next to his bed. There are others scattered around the room, illuminating an operating table, cabinets full of various vials and bottles along one wall, and a few other empty beds. There doesn’t seem to be any technology present and he feels as though he’s stepped into the world of his mother’s old books: knights and dragons and healers with magic performing miracles by candlelight.

He banishes those memories quickly, before they overwhelm him, and carefully extracts himself from the bed. He’s wasted enough time already.

Ailmar and his elders could be back at any moment.

The floor is cool beneath his bare feet and his bad leg holds, but the pain is sharp and vicious with every step. He moves away from the stairs, further back into the room, following the scattered lanterns on a winding path to another door. He presses his ear to the wood, but can’t hear anything on the other side. He still backtracks to grab what looks like some kind of surgical knife from the operating area before he slides the door open.

It’s another, smaller room. Several lanterns hang from vines that have grown across the ceiling. In the center, there is another bed like his and in that bed is Eliza.

He breathes her name like a prayer, rushing as quickly as he can to her side. She’s still unconscious, dark hair fanned out across the pillow, but the gash on her forehead has been treated. She’s dressed in the same loose clothing as he is, blankets pulled up to her chest, and something is wrong. 

He scans her body and freezes when he gets to her legs.

_No…_

The blanket covering her is uneven. Heart in his throat, he pulls it back with trembling fingers.

Her right leg has been amputated—just below her knee.

_No no no…_

He braces himself against the bed as guilt churns dark and furious in his stomach. He shouldn’t have sent that message through B.U.R.R.; he shouldn’t have involved her in this mess at all. She’d be back on the ship, safe and whole, if it wasn’t for him.

“I thought I told you to remain in your bed,” Ailmar’s voice says from the doorway behind him, heavy with disapproval.

He doesn’t bother turning around. “I had to make sure she was all right.”

“I told you her vitals are stable. Unfortunately, we were unable to save her leg. The wound was too severe. Without an amputation and surgery, she would have bled to death.”

Alex lays a hand over Eliza’s, hating how cold her skin feels, and tries to blink away his gathering tears.

“We saved her life,” Ailmar continues. “Yours too. If we had not seen the fire you shot into the sky, you would both be dead.”

“Thank you,” Alex says, though he isn’t sure he means it.

They’re still prisoners.

“Now, the elders want to speak with you. You will come with me.”

Alex knows the sound of an impending interrogation when he hears it and he tightens his grip on Eliza’s hand. “She’ll be safe. You won’t hurt her?”

“She is your … life-bond?” Ailmar asks.

Alex thinks about lying. Showing vulnerability, showing attachment, only invites trouble—signals that here is something that can be used against you.

(Tell us what we want to know or we kill her.)

But considering the emotion he can feel pouring out of him, the despair and heartbreak and helpless love he knows must be etched into every line of his face, lying would probably be pointless.

“Yes. So please, do whatever you want with me, but don’t hurt her.”

“That is not for me to decide,” Ailmar says. “But the elders are not cruel.”

It’s hardly the reassurance he wanted, but it will have to do. He reluctantly pulls his hand away, hating to leave her in this strange room. Hating that she might wake up here alone, with no one to lean on when she first realizes the extent of what has happened. Of what she has lost.

_(You ruin everything you touch, Alexander.)_

“Come,” Ailmar says, impatient now, and closes a firm hand over Alex’s arm, pulling him from the room.

Alex expects to be taken somewhere else, but two guards, one male, one female, and what must be an elder are waiting back in the main cavern.

Apparently, they’re going to conduct the interrogation right here.

The elder is of a similar build and appearance to Ailmar, though his silver hair is longer and the light blue marks on his skin are different. His robes are just as simple, though—black, rich fabric that trails to the floor. But pinned to the front is an emblem, crafted from some kind of metal and shaped into what looks to be an elaborate star. It’s rich purple in hue, similar to the vines he collected from the grove, and it glints in the light.

The guards on either side of the elder, however, are wearing armor over their robes—though unlike any he’s seen before. The metal covering their chests narrows and turns into a thick collar, stretching almost to the back of their heads. It’s tinted a dull green and the flowing patterns carved into it mimic those on each guard’s skin.

It’s extraordinary craftsmanship. Under different circumstances he would be impressed.

“I have already injected it,” Ailmar says, folding his long-fingered hands into the sleeves of his robe. “It can understand us.”

“ _He,_ actually,” Alexander snaps and Ailmar shrugs.

“And who are you?” the elder asks. His voice is even deeper the Ailmar’s and harsher, lacking the soothing undercurrents that run through Ailmar’s words. “ _What_ are you?”

Alex grits his teeth against the immediate, defiant response that surges up his throat. Cooperate. Play nice. Keep Eliza safe.

“I’m Alexander Hamilton, a scientist with the Exploration Initiative. My homeworld is Earth, in the Sol System.”

The elder’s eyes widen slightly. “Earth? Humans have developed space travel?”

Alex tries not to show his own surprise at the elder’s apparent familiarity with his species. “Yes. Several hundred years ago.”

“And what is this _Exploration Initiative_?”

“We’re explorers. Scientists. We research planets.”

The elder’s shoulders straighten and Alex tamps down on a wince. Wrong answer. “For what purpose?”

“To see what kind of resources they contain.”

“So, you are conquerors?” The elder demands, tone icy and sharp now.

“ _No,”_ Alex backpedals, holding placating hands up. “No, we are charting the galaxy. Mapping it. Gathering knowledge that can be shared amongst other species. We’re not conquering worlds. We didn’t even know that this world was inhabited, if we had, we never would have—”

“Silence,” the elder snaps, cutting him off. He turns his gaze to the guards. “And these are the last of them?”

“Yes,” the guard says. “That we could find. The traitors might have the rest.”

_The rest?_

“Wait … are you talking about my crew? You’re keeping them prisoner here, too? Where are they…?”

He goes to take a step forward and both guards immediately raise their staffs in his direction. A strange, green energy crackles at the top of them—menacing and mesmerizing in equal measure.

“I am the one asking the questions,” the elder says imperiously. “And I do not find your answers satisfactory.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Alex insists, frustrated. “We didn’t know you were _here.”_

“Did the traitors summon you?”

“Traitors? I have no idea what you’re talking about—”

The elder turns back to the guards. “Would it be possible for them to have sent some kind of distress signal?”

The guard hesitates, before nodding her head. “Considering what they were building, yes I would think so.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Alexander says, finally losing patience. “I don’t know anything about these traitors and we weren't summoned here. We’re explorers, _scientists,_ nothing more. We’re not soldiers.”

“And yet you were carrying weapons,” the elder counters.

“For protection,” Alex insists. “Our camp was attacked. We had to defend ourselves, that’s all. If you would just listen I can explain further that—”

“Enough,” the elder commands, cutting him off again. “I do not believe you.”

“I’m telling the _fucking truth.”_

“Wake the other human.”

“What?” Alex says, feeling like someone has just dumped a bucket of freezing water over his head. “No! She’ll tell you the same thing. Please, you _can’t…”_

“Get this one on his knees.”

“Are you sure this is wise?” Ailmar asks, sounding dubious. “The rest of the council would not approve of such extreme methods…”

“We are living in extreme times,” the elder snaps. “Get him on his knees.”

One of the guards starts towards him and Alex tells himself to remain calm, don’t panic, but his heart is climbing his throat and all he can think about is Eliza—watching them hurt Eliza, Eliza being hurt even more because of him.

“ _No,”_ he snarls, trying to twist out of the guard’s reach. His wounds make him sluggish, though, and she restrains him easily, shoving him down to the rocky earth. His bad leg pulsates pain and he breathes through it.

The elder is immovable as a mountain, staring down at him with no expression.

“The other human is still very weak,” Ailmar says, still protesting. “I am uncertain if she would be able to survive this stress.”

Alex jerks in the guard’s grip, words frantically pouring out of his mouth. “Please, she doesn’t know anything. She’ll tell you the same thing I have. You have other members of my crew? They’ll verify my story if you ask them. We can even show you on our ships logs evidence that we didn’t receive any transmission from this planet—we’re not working with any traitors, we didn’t know this world was inhabited and as soon as our ship is fixed we can leave—”

The second guard steps forward and slams his staff into Alex’s stomach. All the air leaves his lungs in a wheezing rush and a wave of that strange green energy washes over him. It feels like prickly static against his skin until it reaches his wounds. Then it sharpens into a thousand hot knives stabbing into his nerves—pain so intense it makes his vision blur and a scream wrench loud from his mouth.

Reflexive tears drip down his cheeks to land in the dirt and the female guard is curling a fist in his hair to haul him back upright when a new voice rings out.

“ _Enough!”_

Through wet, hazy eyes Alex sees another elder stride into the room. She is taller than the first with silver hair falling down one side of her face, the other half of her head shaved, and the pin on her robes is a crescent moon instead of a star. Her expression is livid and her fury crackles in the air around her like a living thing.

“What is the meaning of this, Aurebesh,” she snaps.

The first elder shrinks slightly under the intensity of her glare. “Grandmaster, I was merely questioning—”

“We are _not,_ savages,” the grandmaster says, turning her glare on the guards, as well. “Get him up.”

The two guards lever Alex to his feet, careful now, and Alex would remark on this but he still feels dizzy and his legs barely hold his weight.

“Please,” he forces out. “We don’t mean any harm. You have … the rest of my crew?”

“No,” the grandmaster says, shaking her head. “We have brought in a few members from your camp and your ship. The rest I do not know. It could be that they have been taken by the rebels.”

_Rebels?_

Unimportant, he decides. The camp? But which one? His? That would mean John, Harvendall, and Cavendar. And the ship … if they raided the ship they could have captured Jefferson, Washington, Peggy, Hercules, and half a dozen others. And what about B.U.R.R.?

“Can I … are they safe? Can I see them?”

“No.” Another shake of her head. “Not now.”

He expected as much, but frustration still sparks through him. Still, better not to push his luck. Eliza’s safety is his main priority right now.

“You must remain here,” the grandmaster says, waving a hand to the cavern around them. “Until your wounds have healed. Then we shall talk.”

“Can I stay with Eliza?” He’ll go mad if they tie him back to that stupid bed, knowing that she’s just in the next room.

“Yes,” the grandmaster decides and he slumps in relief. “But you will need to be restrained.”

“I understand.”

Ailmar leads the way back to Eliza’s room and pulls up a wooden chair next to her bed. Alex sinks gingerly into it, expecting them to pull his hands behind his back. Instead, they press his writs together in front of him and he watches in fascination as one of the guards holds up a vine and it loops around him several times like it's sentient, tying his hands in front of him.

“Ailmar will see to you,” the grandmaster says in from the doorway. “Attempt to escape would be unwise.”

“I understand,” Alex says for what feels like the millionth time, and then the grandmaster, the elder, and the guards are gone.

Ailmar approaches, however, holding a cup. “Please drink this. It will help with your wounds.”

Alex is dubious, but his whole body aches, so he ignores his uncertainty and lets Ailmar hold the cup to his lips. The liquid inside is cool and unexpectedly sweet and the relief it brings almost immediate. Alexander sags back in the chair, sighing.

Ailmar lingers in the doorway. “Call for me when she awakens. We have remedies that will ensure she does not feel any pain from her leg.”

“I will,” Alex says—grateful, suddenly, for the fact that Ailmar seems to be in their corner, at least. “Thank you.”

Ailmar dips his head regally, and closes the door behind him with a quiet _click._

Alone, Alex scoots his chair forward and lays his bound hands over Eliza’s cold one, holding on tight and terrified that if he lets go for even an instant, she’ll slip through his fingers.

 

_ _

 

Eliza arrives at his apartment at eight o’clock sharp, wearing a gorgeous teal dress that brushes her knees, and her hair loose around her face. He stares at her for a moment, uncharacteristically tongue-tied, and she laughs and holds out her arm. He takes it with a smile of his own and lets her lead him towards the elevators.

“You look nice,” she says, reaching up a hand to brush at the few hairs that always seem to escape his bun, falling around his ears. He tries not to tug self-consciously on the hem of his grey sweater. “Did you brush your hair?”

“I did,” he confirms and glances at her. “No grease stains?”

“Nope,” she says.

“Guess we clean up well, then.”

“Who would have thought?”

He laughs and watches her press the button for Level Four—the tram station. “Where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise,” Eliza says. “But I’m going to change your life.”

“My whole life, huh?”

“Yep.”

The elevator door opens. Alex gestures her inside first. “Lead the way.”

They don’t talk much on the tram—both of them tired, he thinks—but she reaches for his hand and asks softly, “is this okay?”

It’s a strange question, one’s he never been asked before, and he finds himself actually thinking for a moment before nodding. “Yes.”

Her fingers twine with his and it’s easy, good. More than okay. The silence that stretches between them is comfortable, too, and he watches the station lights make patterns on Eliza’s face through the window. She catches him looking and smiles, gentle. Squeezes his hand.

His chest feels too tight, suddenly, and his stomach is still fluttering, fluttering, fluttering. Butterflies everywhere.  

The restaurant she takes him to is one of the nicest ones on the concourse and he hesitates on the street outside, suddenly realizing that he might not be able to afford to eat here.

God, this is embarrassing.

“Hey,” Eliza says, squeezing his hand again. Her gaze is understanding, piercing right through him. “I’m paying.”

“But…” He starts to protest and she shakes her head.

“I asked you out,” she insists. “And I’m changing your life, remember? Come on.”

He concedes defeat and lets her pull him into the restaurant. They get a table in the corner, nice mood lighting, and it isn’t nearly as ostentatious as he was worried it might be. He’s never done this before—had dinner with someone—and he has no idea what he’s supposed to do as the waiter sets menus in front of them and fills their glasses with water.

He and John were too fucked up to bother with conventional dating—existed together in beds and darkened corridors and sparring rooms. Violence and sex, fire and storm, jagged edges and bleeding hands—nothing soft about them at all. And all the ones before him were worse. Could never, ever be mistaken as romantic or loving or even kind.

But here is Eliza, framed in low light, and he wants to get this right but he’s so far out of his depth it’s laughable _._

“Is it okay if I order for us?” Eliza asks and he nods a little too frantically.

_Thank God._

She rattles off a surprisingly long list of items to the waiter, including wine, and then grins at him.

“So, when is the life-changing going to happen?” he asks.

“As soon as the food arrives. They have the best steak on the station. Maybe _anywhere.”_

He tries to remember if he’s ever had steak before. No particular instance is coming to mind, but he’s not about to share that information. He asks her about her work instead and watches her light up. It’s surprisingly easy to sit back and listen to her talk excitedly about ship designs and a few robotic prototypes she’s developing, drawing diagrams in the air to emphasize her points. Her scope of knowledge is incredible and he soon finds himself asking numerous clarifying questions, trying to wrap his head around everything she’s explaining.

She’s walking him through the field of cybernetics, which she also wants to gain more experience in, when the food finally arrives. There’s so _much_ of it that Alex gapes for a second before composing himself.

“Dig in,” Eliza says with a grin and he obeys.

It’s _incredible._ Probably the best thing he’s ever tasted in his life and he has to swallow back a fairly obscene moan at the first bite of steak that bursts across his tongue.

“Fuck,” he declares when he’s swallowed and Eliza laughs, loud and bright.

“Told you I was going to change your life.”

He looks across at her, at the laugh lines in the corners of her eyes and the dimples on her cheeks and her slim fingers curled lazily around her wine glass. She’s beautiful and kind and intelligent and this feels like a beginning. In his chest, his heart is soaring—a thousand birds taking wing.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “You did.”

 

_ _

 

Eliza’s pained groan startles him from fitful sleep and he looks up to see her eyes fluttering. Shouts for Ailmar. The healer hurries back into the room, cradling the same cup as before. Alex watches with his heart somewhere in his throat as Ailmar cradles Eliza’s head and gently pours the concoction down her throat.

“I will leave you alone,” he says when the cup is empty. “It is best not to overwhelm her.”

“Thank you,” Alex replies and grips Eliza’s hand as best he can as she blinks her eyes open. She looks around the room in dazed confusion for a moment before her gaze settles on him.

“Alexander?”

“Eliza,” he says, voice wet with renewed tears.

“What … what happened?” Her brow furrows and before he can reply, her lips part in shock. “The shuttle! There was fog and the controls … something malfunctioned. I … I crashed?”

“Yes,” he confirms. “I found you.”

She shifts in the bed, trying to sit up. “Where are we?”

“Take it easy,” he instructs, leaning forward to steady her.

He can tell the second she realizes that something else is wrong, feels her go stiff and tense beneath his fingers.

“Eliza,” he says, helpless, as she whips the blankets back and makes a choked sound of horror at her missing leg.

“W-what?”

“A piece of the shuttle broke off,” he explains, trying to keep his voice even for her. “Went through your leg. They had to amputate to save your life. I’m so sorry.”

She shakes her head, a hand over her mouth, and there are tears welling in her eyes. In his chest, his heart is shattering.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, not knowing what else to say, how to fix this. “I’m so sorry.”

She shakes her head again and squeezes her eyes shut so hard it looks painful. He holds his tongue, listening to her deep, hiccupping breaths—to her stitching herself back together. When she opens her eyes again, they’re red-rimmed but clear. Sharp.

Never let it be said that Elizabeth Schuyler is weak.

“Okay,” she says, voice only trembling a little. “Okay. Who’s _they?”_ Her gaze slides back to him, to his bound hands, and she reaches for him. “Alexander…”

“Leave them,” he insists. “You have to leave them.” She frowns, but complies, dropping her hand back into her lap. “We’re … there is other sentient life on the planet. They’ve taken us prisoner. Along with some of the crew, though I don’t know who.”

“Other sentient life?” she murmurs, absorbing this with another assessing look at their surroundings. “Why didn’t the scanners…?”

“I don’t know. But you should rest. There isn’t anything we can do right now.”

She doesn’t listen, focused on the bandages visible through his loose shirt. “You’re hurt,” she murmurs. “You said it was bad…”

“I’m fine,” he insists with a shake of his head. “It’s fine, it’s not as bad as…” he clicks his mouth shut, realizing with horror what he was about to say.

Eliza smiles at him, sad. “Losing your leg?”

“Eliza…” he says with a wince and she shushes him.

“Don’t apologize again. It wasn’t your fault. And it’s … it’s not that bad. Really. I’ll just make myself a cool robotic one instead. Always wanted to do that.” Her voice wobbles and it sounds like she’s desperately trying to convince herself, so Alex quickly plays along.

“Yeah, you’ll look badass.”

She laughs, the sound thick with renewed tears, and tugs gently at his shirt. “Come up here. Please?”

It takes some maneuvering, but he manages to fit himself next to her on the narrow bed. Their damaged legs—her right, his left—rest carefully against each other and she presses her forehead to the side of his face, gripping his hands in her own.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers to her, curling in as close as he can.

“I know,” she whispers back. “I’ve got you, too.”

He wheezes out a broken laugh and nods, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Eventually, her breathing evens out into sleep and he can feel his own eyelids growing heavy. He forces himself to stay awake, though, and keep vigil.

If anything tries to get to her, they’ll have to go through him first. It’s the least he can give her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Building alien races is hard, y'all. Hopefully everything is coming across okay. 
> 
> I treasure comments like a dragon treasures gold and they're also deeply motivating so please take time to leave one if you're enjoying the story! Or come hit me up on tumblr at [wobblyspelling](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com). You can also check out the 'other suns' tag there for visual inspiration for the story.
> 
> Until next time. <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIIIVE. Sorry for the wait, folks. I got sidetracked by another fic and then a TV show of all things, which almost never happens. But I should be back on track with more regular updates now. 
> 
> If there is anyone still left out there after, um, a month, I hope you enjoy. <3

_Humans are even stranger creatures than we first anticipated. Facing them in battle naturally could not have given us the full scope of their culture, but even after nearly three years amongst them, they continue to surprise me. For such fragile beings, they are incredibly tenacious, and even though their lives are mere flickers compared to most species they often seem to find themselves invincible. Or perhaps they simply do not fear death in a way that those more long-lived often do. Either way, I can see now why they managed to fight us to a stalemate, in spite of our superior forces. Surrender is so rarely in their nature._

_They feel fiercely, as well. Love and hate and joy and anger—each is potent and can drive them to distraction easily. Their bonds, I think, run much deeper than ours and they can easily forge them with numerous others. Though this crew shares no common blood, they often seem to treat each other like family._

_I will admit that in many ways, it is refreshing if also somewhat dangerous. I suspect that more than glory or honor or even legacy, these bonds are what truly drive humans. For those they love, they will burn worlds._

_Perhaps, thinking about it, it is more of surprise that we did not lose._

_-_ **Translated section of a report submitted to the Savran** **Triumvirate by Ambassador Lafayette**

****

_ _

 

 

He has no idea how long they’ve been here. In the cavern, time seems fluid and elastic, compressing and expanding at will. He never thought he would say it, after growing up on his scorching homeworld, but he misses the sun. Or maybe the stars even more. The vines that curl across the ceiling are no replacement for the open vastness of the sky stretching out above him—one of the few things that has the power to make him feel small.

The quiet is oppressive, too, and his thoughts hum through his head like a gathering storm. So far, every request for information about the rest of the crew has been denied. His hands remain bound, except when he’s allowed to wash and put on a fresh change of clothes: all several sizes too big and the same thin material. Eliza sleeps, on and off, which Alex is grateful for. Ailmar and his strange potions keep them both numb to the worst of the pain, though Alex is always reluctant to drink them—worried about losing control of his senses in a way he never wants to again.

He tries not to cause too much trouble, either. Even if it’s not in his nature to be docile, he’s learned that a well-behaved prisoner is usually a well-treated prisoner, with a much higher chance of survival. Besides there is also Eliza to consider and he refuses to do anything that might put her in jeopardy. Better to grit his teeth and go along with the vines and the poking and prodding and lack of information.

He’s still ready to tear down the walls of the cavern with his bare hands by the time one of the elders comes to visit again.

It’s Aurebesh and he stiffens automatically, eyeing the staffs held tight in the grip of his guards. If Aurebesh notices his sudden discomfort, he doesn’t acknowledge it, merely folds his hands into the wide sleeves of his robes.

“You are to come with me.”

“Where?” Alex asks, shrinking back further in his chair. Eliza is mercifully fast asleep and so cannot voice her own protest.

Aurebesh frowns. “We are to meet with the rebels for a … discussion.”

“A discussion?”

Aurebesh’s frown deepens. “You do not get a say in the matter.” He nods to his guards. “Take him.”

Alex pushes himself to his feet before they can grab him, bound hands held out in front of him. “I’m sorry, I’ll cooperate.”

“I should hope so,” Aurebesh says and signals to his guards once again.

The one closest to him has a bundle of fabric draped over one arm. As she unfurls it, he realizes that it’s a cloak, and keeps still so that she can drape it over his shoulders and fasten it.

Ailmar appears in the doorway, holding the boots Alex thought lost, and the guard unties his hands so he can slip them carefully on. His leg is still fragile and painful, making him limp with each step, but if they keep the pace slow he should be all right.

“Please be considerate of his injuries,” Ailmar says to Aurebesh. “And keep in mind that the grandmaster will be displeased should any further harm befall him.”

Aurebesh waves an impatient, dismissive hand. “I am aware.”

“You’ll look after Eliza?” Alex asks and is relieved when Ailmar nods.

“She will be cared for and I will inform her of your departure.”

“Thank you,” Alex whispers and takes a step towards the bed.

When no one moves to stop him, he bends down and presses a lingering kiss against Eliza’s temple, trying to ignore the fearful jackrabbiting of his heart. He has no idea what these discussions will involve or if he’ll be allowed back here, and he regrets not being able to say good-bye, but this is probably for the best. 

“Time to go,” the guard says, curling her hand around his shoulder.

He brushes gentle fingers through Eliza's hair one last time and forces himself to step away from the bed. To not look back as he's takes from the room and and up the stone steps to the locked door. It opens with an old, creaking groan and Alex breaths in deep the cold night air, feeling tears prick at his eyes at the sight of stars through the canopy and the brush of the breeze against his face.

It's been so  _long._

The shadows around him are black and deep, but he can see lights piercing them. They’re in a village of some kind, nestled beneath trees that are more akin to skyscrapers. Before Alex’s eyes can adjust further, though, the guards pull him away—dry grass crunching beneath his feet. He keeps his head down, trying not to be too obvious in his observations, as they walk towards a low-roofed structure. There are figures waiting outside it: more guards and a few others wearing robes and pins—these in the shape of a constellation of three stars carved from blue metal. Diplomats? Military?

His attention is soon pulled away from them, however, to focus on the animals they are all clustered around. Massive birds, bigger than any he’s ever seen, with feathers as black as the darkness and short, sharp beaks. Their irises are the same otherworldly white as the aliens’ and each is sporting a saddle on its back and some kind of bridle roped around its beak.

The female guard leads him to one of the birds near the rear of the procession and boosts him onto its back like he weighs nothing. He buries his fingers in the coarse feathers and clings on for dear life as the beast skitters around. He’s never liked animals, especially big ones, and he feels far too precarious even in the saddle. The guard swings herself up behind him and produces a black strip of cloth.

“Tie this over your eyes,” she instructs.

He obeys with shaky fingers, trying to quell his terror at being both blind _and_ stuck on the back of a weird bird. The guard tests the knot and, apparently satisfied, reaches around him to grab the reins. The world lurches as the bird starts forward at what feels like a brisk pace, forcing him to grab hold of the feathers again, shoulders hunched in an effort to maintain his balance. His leg aches, but he’s glad not to be walking.

As they leave the village behind, Alex closes his eyes beneath the blindfold and listens to the endless rustle of the canopy overhead. The dry rattle of waist-high grass. The distant roll of thunder.

He has no idea how long they’ve been traveling when he feels the first drops of rain.

 

_ _

 

Alex expects to be drenched through by the time they stop, but the cloak seems to be waterproof to an extent humans have never managed to achieve. Once the guard pulled the wide hood up over his head, he stayed almost entirely dry.

Small mercies, he supposes, as he’s helped down from the saddle. His bad leg shakes and it takes a long moment before its willing to support him. The guard waits, letting him lean on her with remarkable patience while he adjusts. Once he’s steady, she removes the blindfold, and he blinks in the pale morning light. They’re at the edge of a large field, full of low yellow grass and dotted with what look like shallow pools of nearly black water. On all sides, distant trees stand like matchsticks and mountains blot the horizon like sleeping giants.

In the middle of the clearing is a crumbling stone ruin, slowly being subsumed by creeping purple vines. It looks like it might have been a fortress or even a palace hundreds of years ago. Once again, this feels like a scene out of his mother’s storybooks. He half expects a dragon to pass by overhead, but there is only the steady fall of the rain and the guard winding the vines back around his sore wrists.

The marshy earth is hard on his leg as they start forward. He grits his teeth against the now-familiar pain, distracting himself by watching the sway of Aurebeshs’ robes ahead of him and the growing details of the ruin, including the figures lined up in front of it.

The rebels.

They’re not dressed in robes, but uniforms of some kind—metal chest plates and cloth undergarments, all green and yellow like the world around them. They have pins, too: a rising sun, etched in blood red. Their silver hair is cropped short and their faces are hard, but all look … younger. Alex can’t place why, exactly. Something in the set of their shoulders and the gleam in their eyes screams of the brash confidence of youth.

They remind him of John.

A woman steps forward, carrying a staff with familiar green light crackling on the end. “Aurebesh.”

“Yulara,” Aurebesh says—voice laced with barely concealed disdain.

Yulara’s gaze sweeps their party and stops on Alex. Her expression is unreadable. “I see you have brought the requested prisoner.”

“And have you?”

Alex’s breath hitches.

Yulara nods. “Yes, he’s inside. We will speak amongst ourselves first.”

“Very well,” Aurebesh concedes and gestures to the guard holding onto the end of the vine looped around Alex’s wrists. “Take him to the join the other one.”

Alex stumbles after the guard, heart pounding in his ears. Who could it be? Who have they captured? The rest of the crew, as the grandmaster suggested? Or just one of the camps?

The rebels part to let them through the archway. The open courtyard beyond has a large tree growing in the middle of it, pressing its branches up against the stone. It's bark, Alex realizes with a jolt, is dotted with black stains. One of the rebels points to a nondescript door on the right wall, a latch across the front of it, and Alex stumbles on roots and the remnants of a stone path as he’s guided over to it. The latch is coated in rust but still sturdy, taking most of the guard’s strength to open, and the room inside is bathed in shadow.

The door slams shut behind him as soon as he crosses the threshold and he leans against it to keep his balance, leg aching.

“Who’s there?” a familiar voice says, cutting through the heavy quiet.

Alex closes his aching eyes. The name cracks leaving his mouth. “John.”

John makes a wordless sound and then Alex feels a callused hand sliding over his cheek. He still can’t make out much of John’s features in the gloom.

“Alexander,” John breathes. “Oh my god.”

“Hi,” Alex mumbles, still half-dizzy with relief.

John suddenly shifts and pulls him into a tight embrace. He freezes, caught off-guard by the clench of John’s fingers in the back of his cloak and the warmth of John’s mouth pressed against his neck. Doesn’t think John has ever held him like this, with so much raw emotion.

“I thought you were dead,” John whispers into his skin. “You weren’t in your tent and then that _thing_ attacked and … I thought you were _dead._ ”

“I’m okay,” Alex murmurs, sagging against John. “I’m okay, but I need to sit down.”

He’d rather admit weakness now than have his leg give out in a few seconds and worry John even more.

“You’re hurt,” John says, pulling back to help ease him to the cool dirt floor. “Did they hurt you?” He touches the vines, the welts below.

“Don’t touch those,” Alex says through clenched teeth. “And they didn’t. It was that monster. It was still in the camp when I got back.”

“Fuck,” John says, sliding down to sit beside him. He rests his hand over Alex’s bound ones, curling his fingers protectively around them, but Alex finds that he doesn’t mind. He needs the anchor John is providing. The reminder that John is _alive._ “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? It wasn’t your fault.”

“I shouldn’t have kept letting you go off into the swamp alone.” John squeezes his hand, gentle. “I’m sorry for that.”

“Don’t be,” Alex says and lets his eyes drift closed again. He’s so tired. “I wouldn’t have let you come along, anyway.”

John sighs. “I know.”

“Then quit with the guilt,” Alex insists. He’s never been able to face it well, especially when it’s over him. “Who else is with you?”

“Harvendall. Cavender didn’t make it. It looks like they raided the ship, too. Washington, Peggy, and Hercules were already captured when we arrived.” He hesitates, a terrible pause. “Washington … something happened. We don’t know what but he’s hurt. Bad. Hasn’t woken up in days.”

Alex ruthlessly presses down the fear and sorrow that rises in response to the information. “Shit.”

“We don’t know where Maria is. Or if she’d be able to help.”

“She might be with us,” Alex says. “They mentioned having others, but not who. I haven’t been allowed to see them. It’s just been me and Eliza.”

“Eliza’s with you?” John asks. “Is she okay?”

Alex feels another wave of tears flood his eyes. “There was a crash. She … she lost her leg.”

John squeezes his hand hard, presses his forehead against Alex’s temple, and Alex clings as he would to a lifeline. “I’m so sorry.”

“That isn’t your fault, either,” Alex croaks.

“I’m still sorry,” John murmurs. “I’m sorry it happened. And it also isn’t yours.”

“I radioed in the distress signal.”

“And knowing Eliza, she’s still glad that you did.”

John is right, Alex knows, but it doesn’t do much to ease the guilt still gnawing away in the pit of his stomach. He tries his best to ignore it. There are more immediate things to worry about right now.

“Have they told you anything?”

“No,” John says. “Not much. They thought that we were here to help ‘the council’ at first, but I think we’ve managed to convince them otherwise.” He shifts and Alex can hear him raking his fingers through his hair, catching on the tangles. “What the hell have we stumbled into? Some kind of war?”

“Maybe. Or one that’s about to happen.”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly,” Alex says with a mirthless smile.

“Do you … do you think they were watching us before this?”

Alex thinks back to the camp, standing on the edge of the circle of light from the tents and feeling eyes staring back him from somewhere deep in the darkness. “Yes. I think they were watching us as soon as we arrived. Don’t know why they waited so long to attack, though.”

“Well it worked,” John grumbles. “We didn’t even see it coming. One minute we were walking through a clearing in the swamp and the next we were surrounded. Cavender tried to shoot one of them. They fired first.”

Alex suspected as much, but it still hurts in a dull and distant way. Another thing to be dealt with later.

“You’re not hurt?” he asks, wishing he could see better.

“No,” John says and Alex can’t detect any lie in his voice. Which doesn’t necessarily mean anything. John’s lied to him successfully before. “They shoved me around a little and injected me with some stuff so I could understand them, but nothing serious.” John’s hand brushes carefully over his knee. “Is it your leg?”

“And my side,” Alex adds, not seeing the point of lying. “Fucking monster got two good hits in. But I got it back with a hand cannon.”

John rasps a laugh. “Good.” His voice goes soft and strangely vulnerable when he says, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Alex swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and takes John’s hand again. “I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

“You should rest for a little bit,” John says. “I have no idea how long they’ll be and you sound exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” Alex mumbles stubbornly. “I’ll be fine.”

He’s asleep in minutes.

 

_ _

 

“Alexander.” A nudge to his shoulder. Alex’s eyes fly open and he snaps upright from where he’d been leaning against John, instantly alert. “Shit,” John says, sounding startled. “I forgot you do that.”

“What is it?” Alex asks, but before John can answer the screech of the latch lifting pierces the room and the door groans open.

A guard, different than before, and a rebel stand there side by side. The air seethes with tension.

“Get up,” the guard orders.

John stands and wraps an arm around Alex to pull him to his feet, keeps him balanced as they step back into the open.

Both sides have gathered in the courtyard, keeping a wide distance between them. Alex and John are led into the middle, right between the two groups. Alex presses into John’s side and tells himself to keep calm. Fighting or fleeing won’t help right now. John bares his teeth, eyes narrowed. In the light, Alex can see the wild curls of his hair escaping from his ponytail and the shallow cuts on one cheek. He’s wearing similar clothes to the rebels, though no armor—just yellow and green—and Alex can’t see any bandages or obvious injuries.

Maybe John _was_ telling the truth.

Either way.

“ _Rester calme,”_ he murmurs under his breath. “Please.”

John frowns, but some of the tension bleeds from his shoulders.

“After corroborating the information you have shared with us, we have determined that you are not spies,” Aurebesh says.

Alex can feel John relax even further against him, but he holds himself back. Senses a _but_ coming.

“However,” Aurebesh continues, almost right on cue, “we cannot trust you. Therefore, we have decided that, until decisive arrangements can be made, you will remain divided.”

“What?” John snaps—all the tension back in a breath. “You can’t just keep us prisoner!”

Alex elbows him. “ _Calme.”_

“Fuck off,” John hisses back. “ _Ils ne peuvent pas_.”

“ _Ils peuvent,”_ Alex counters. “ _Et ils le feront._ So _calm down.”_

John glares at Aurebesh and the rebels, fury crackling around him like a living thing. “If you let us go we can repair our ship and leave you in peace.”

“All you have to give us is your word,” Aurebesh says. “And that is not enough.”

“I told you,” Alex tries. “We mean you no harm. We’re scientists.”

Aurebesh shakes his head. “Why else do species come to other worlds if not to conquer? You will remain separated until both factions have reached a satisfactory agreement.”

Him and Yulara exchange a glance so frigid that Alex is convinced they’re going to be stuck here for at least the next ten years.

But arguing right now isn’t going to get them anywhere. “We understand,” he says and ignores the way John’s gaze bores into the side of his face.

Aurebesh gestures to one of the guards, who steps toward Alex. “A gesture of good faith.” The guard reaches for the vines and uncoils them from Alex’s wrists. “You will be contained, but treated with civilty as long as you continue to cooperate.”

“Thank you,” Alex forces himself to say through his own frustration.

John’s arms wrap around him again and this time he hugs back just as hard, burying his face in John’s shoulder. “Be careful,” he whispers. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Who, me?” John says, pulling back with a pained smile.

“I mean it,” Alex says and doesn’t add _I can’t lose you_ because he isn’t sure if that’s true, no matter how visceral it feels in his chest. If he can allow it to be true. “Follow along for now, please.”

John cups Alex’s face and rests their foreheads together. “I promise. And you, too, Alexander. Be careful.”

Alex tries for a smile, but can only get one corner of his mouth to quirk. “I always am.”

John leans back and shakes his head. For a moment looks like he wants to say something else, but only shakes his head again and pulls Alex back in for one last embrace. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Very soon,” Alex says around the sinking feeling in his spine. The dread that’s getting heavy.

And then John is gone and Alex’s arms ache strange and sharp at the absence of him. He watches the rebels lead John across the field until they’re lost to the trees.

John doesn’t look back once.

“He will be all right,” Aurebesh says, tone strangely soft. “We are indeed living in extreme times, but the grandmaster is right, we are not savages. Not even Yulara’s faction, for all their treachery.”

“What did they do?” Alex asks, needing to get his mind off John. He can still remember the awful pain of the staff and in the face of it Aurebesh’s attempts at comfort hold little merit.

“You are an outsider,” Aurebesh says, back to his ususal stiff demeanor. “That is not for you to know.”

“You’re refusing to let us leave,” Alex argues. “Shouldn’t that give us some right to know what we’re caught up in?”

“Perhaps,” Aurebesh says, surprising him, “but it is not my story to tell. The grandmaster must decide if you are worthy of such information.”

“Right,” Alex says, wanting to laugh.

God, he’s so tired.

Aurebesh turns back towards their waiting mounts. “Come. We must return. There are storms coming.”

Alex peers up at the darkening sky—clouds a deep violet, like a bruise. There is another low rumble of thunder, rolling slowly overhead before it dies above the distant mountains. He blows out a long breath and starts forward on his good leg.

They’re halfway across the field when the sky opens up and the rain resumes, soaking the already wet earth and turning puddles into rivers.  

A storm coming.

Alex can’t help but feel like that’s prophetic. Even if he’s never believed in fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my life and help me keep writing, so please take a moment to leave one if you can! Or feel free to come hit me up on tumblr at [wobblyspelling](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com) and check out the 'other suns' tag over there for visual inspiration for the story.


	9. Chapter 9

_We have received no word from research ship_ Delaware _in almost two weeks. Long-range scanners are picking up nothing, either, and seem to be encountering some kind of interference around the planet’s atmosphere._

 _Considering the circumstances of the_ Delaware’s _crash, we feel that we cannot mount a rescue mission at this time. We must simply wait. And hope._

_We will keep you informed of the situation as it unfolds._

_-_ **Excerpt of a report submitted to ISA Headquarters by Station 13 commander, Angelica Schuyler**

 

_ _

 

Alexander dreams.

The trees drip black from their leaves and bark. It’s heavy and viscous on his skin. Like ink. Tar. Blood. He scrapes his fingers through it and watches it coat his arm.  

The fog breathes, full of phantoms. Eyes that glow and silhouettes hulking like mountains passing by in the corner of his vision—gone by the time he turns his head.

The wraith hovers, green and ethereal and horrifying. It whispers about death in that melodious voice. Sometimes it’s his mother and sometimes it retains its skeletal form, but the voice never changes: a haunting song all its own.

( _Dying, dying, dying._ )

He asks for answers until his throat burns.

 _Poison,_ it hisses one night.

 _Betrayal,_ it snarls on another.

 _Intruders,_ it sings on a third.

The fog freezes his lungs. The black stains his skin. The sky over his head rumbles and the ground beneath his feet shakes.

He wakes up.

(Though he’s never sure if he was asleep in the first place.)

 

_ _

 

Aurebesh is true to his word. Upon returning to the village, he doesn’t have Alexander locked up in the cavern again, but moved to a house across the wide clearing. It has the same weathered feel as Ailmar’s lair—floors and walls made of thick, heavy wood; furniture hewn from the same strain. Lanterns hanging from the ceiling and perched on tables, but otherwise no decorations or signs of previous habitation.

There is a second floor, but Alex’s leg isn’t strong enough to brave the creaking stairs on his own, leaving him trapped in the open downstairs. He asks about Eliza and is ignored—the door slamming loud behind the guards. The drum of the rain on the roof is equally loud.

He sinks into one of the chairs around the large dining room table and bites his lip against a building scream of frustration. Focuses on the walls instead and realizes, after a moment, that they’re covered in swirling patterns, carved directly into the wood.

Strange.

A natural phenomenon? Or craftsmanship?

He’s too tired and his leg hurts too much to investigate.

Instead he slumps over the table and lets his eyes drift closed, trying hard not to worry about Eliza or John or everyone else. Worry never accomplishes anything, but it still gnaws harsh and insistent at the lining of his stomach.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, drifting in and out of awareness—thoughts chasing themselves in alternatingly hazy and frenetic circles. He wants to see Eliza, he wants to lie down, he wants to tie his fucking hair out of his eyes.

The door creaks open.

He sits upright, ready to demand help for any one of those things, but the words die in his throat when he sees who crosses the threshold.

Lafayette.

He has to duck his head to fit through the doorway and he’s dressed in the same loose clothes as Alex, but where his pants drag on the floor, Lafayette’s barely come past his spindly knees. Alex has no idea what to do with the well of emotion that rises up at the sight of him, whole and apparently unscathed.

“Hello, _mon ami,”_ Lafayette says, voice box and accent still firmly in place, as well.

“You look ridiculous,” Alex blurts, which is a horrible greeting, but Lafayette laughs.

“So you do. Those clothes make you look even smaller, which I did not think possible.”

“Fuck off,” Alex grumbles around the smile trying to overtake his mouth.

A new voice chimes in. “Are you just going to stand in the doorway all day or are you going to let the rest of us in?”

Lafayette quickly steps to the side to allow Maria inside. Lee is trailing after her, but Alex is almost happy to see his scowling face.

Almost.

“Well,” Maria says when she catches sight of him. “You’re alive.”

“You sound surprised,” Alex says.

“I am.”

She steps forward and squeezes his shoulder hard. He’s probably imagining the gleam of tears in her eyes, but the dig of her fingers against his skin already tells him everything he needs to hear.

_(I missed you. I’m glad you’re okay.)_

He reaches up and covers her hand with his.

( _Me too._ )

Maria pulls her hand away and Alex realizes that she’s cradling something the crook of her other arm. A very familiar orb.

“Here,” she says, plunking it down on the table with a loud thud. “They gave us permission to reactivate him.”

Alex searches for the button as the others take seats around the table.

“Where’s Eliza?” Maria asks.

“Still in the infirmary,” Alex says, keeping his eyes on B.U.R.R. and internally hating his own cowardice. “She got hurt bad in a shuttle crash. They’ve been looking after her.”

“How bad?” Maria presses, going into doctor mode.

“She lost her leg,” Alex says, trying to keep as much emotion out of his voice as possible. Considering that even Lee flinches, he probably failed.

Though everyone loves Eliza. Even assholes like Lee.

“Shit,” he says now.

“Yeah,” Alex says and finally locates the thumb pad. Presses his finger against it and is met with a small _beep._  “That’s a pretty good assessment of this whole situation.”

Lee huffs and shakes his head, crossing his arms as he sinks back into his chair.

“Did they amputate it?” Maria asks, still in doctor mode. “Is she being looked after? Provided with proper—”

“Yes,” Alex interrupts. B.U.R.R. is starting to vibrate in his hands, coming back online. “It looked like a clean surgery. And they’ve kept her mostly sedated. Their … healer has these … potions? Something that helps with the pain.”

Maria frowns, not looking satisfied at all. He’s dreading standing up since she’ll immediately start fussing over him, too. Fortunately, though, B.U.R.R.’s eyes blink open and he floats into the air before Maria can press Alex further.

Alex watches B.U.R.R. spin in a swift circle, taking them all in, before he settles on Alex. Fuck, but it's good to see him. 

“You’re alive,” he says, a note of mild surprise in his voice.

Never mind.

Alex rolls his eyes. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Well considering the state of your injuries—”

“Injuries?” Maria snaps and he winces.

“I’m fine,” he insists, glancing at all of them in turn. “I’m _fine.”_ Maria shakes her head and runs her fingers through her short hair, but she doesn’t call him out. “What about you? Did they hurt any of you?”

“No,” Lafayette says. “We were just kept in cells underground. Though … we lost Waters and Simmons when they attacked us.”

Alex closes his eyes, allowing himself a brief moment to mourn for the two zoologists. John’s team. Maybe there will be a way to get word to him. Let him know.

“They won’t tell us anything,” Lee snarls, curling his fingers into tight fists against the wood of the tabletop. “Don’t even know why they moved us.”

“They’re in the middle of some kind of conflict,” Alex says quietly, trying not to think about John’s fingers clutching his cloak. The fierce furnace in his eyes. “Thought we were working for the rebels. The rebels have the rest of the crew and thought the same thing. They met up, decided that isn’t the case. Now I think they’re just trying to keep us comfortable while they decide what to do with us.”

“Well fuck that,” Lee declares, surging to his feet. The chair scrapes harsh against the floor. “They didn’t post guards and I’m not about to sit around waiting for them to kill us.”

“I wouldn’t do anything stupid…” Alex says halfheartedly as Lee marches to the door and reaches for the latch.

It disappears. Sinks straight into the wood. Which _expands,_ covering the seams of the door and turning it into a solid wall.

“What the fuck?” Lee says, sounding shaken.

Alex laughs, grating even to his own ears. “They didn’t _need_ to post guards, idiot. The _house_ is guarding us.”

“ _Incroyable_ ,” Lafayette says, standing up to inspect the newly formed wall.

“I hate this fucking planet,” Maria grumbles.

“Alexander, where is Eliza?” B.U.R.R. asks, eyes darting around the room.

Alex buries his face in his hands.

 

_ _

 

The trees whisper in a language he can’t understand. A thousand voices all murmuring together just beneath the wail of the wind. The grove stretches out before him—vines a virulent purple, glowing in the inky dark, swaying like snakes.

He feels heavy, like he’s surrounded by water. Something wails in the depths of the swamp. The ground shakes. Like something monstrous is waking up.

Another world beneath his feet.

Stars in the gaps between the trees. Whole floating galaxies.

 _Dyyyinngggg,_ his mother snarls.

He closes his eyes. It starts to rain. The water tastes like ash on his tongue and the stars catch on fire.

He wakes up.

 

_ _

 

He pesters their captors enough that they let him back into the caverns to see Eliza. He brings Maria and B.U.R.R. with him—the little robot cradled in his hands because their captors are worried about B.U.R.R.’s scanning abilities. They’ve been locked up in the house for two days and this venture outside gives him no more information about the village than his first—only that it’s larger than he anticipated. Other sections are hidden within the thick canopy of the trees, a thousand glowing lights evidence of their presence. The house, the stables, and the caverns actually seem to be on the far outskirts.

“They’re keeping her down _here?”_ Maria hisses as they descend the stairs.

“Yes,” Alex whispers back.

Ailmar is waiting in the doorway to Eliza’s room.

“She is awake,” he says, folding his hands into his sleeves. “And expecting you.”

“Thank you,” Alex says. Maria shoots him an incredulous look that he can’t decipher as they cross the threshold into Eliza’s room.

She’s sitting up in bed, and though she still looks too pale and thin, her eyes are far more alert than the last time he saw her.

“Alexander,” she says and he dumps B.U.R.R. on the bed in his haste to fold his arms around her.

“Thank God,” she whispers into his neck, fingers curling tight in the back of his cloak. “Thank God, you’re all right. I woke up and you were _gone…”_

“I’m here,” he murmurs back, rocking her like she so often does to him. “I’m okay.”

B.U.R.R. clears his throat, a loud crackle, and Alex reluctantly lets go of Eliza so that he can float over and perch on her shoulder.

“Hi, B.U.R.R.,” she says. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Likewise,” B.U.R.R. says solemnly. “Though I am sorry about your injuries.”

Eliza manages a trembling smile. “I’ll be okay.”

“We need to get you out of this goddamn cave,” Maria says, stepping in for a hug, as well.

“I’ll talk to Ailmar about having her moved,” Alex says.

Maria’s face turns strange and guarded. “Alex … you can understand them?”

Alex blinks at her in surprise. “You can’t?”

“No,” Maria says. “I didn’t think any of us could.”

“They gave us some kind of injection,” Eliza says. “I’m not sure what. But it sounds like English when they talk now.”

Maria shakes her head. “I really hate this fucking planet. Let me have a look at that leg.”

Alex seizes that moment to slip away into the main room. Ailmar is mixing some kind of potion at his workbench—long spine bent and hands quick and practiced with the tools and various vials.

“Why did you only give me and Eliza the injection?” Alex asks, though it wasn’t the first question he meant to come out of his mouth.

Ailmar straightens. Turns those uncanny eyes on him. “You were injured. We needed to be able to communicate.”

“And it’s better if not _all_ of us can understand you, right?” Alex says without any accusation.

It’s what he would have done.

“Yes,” Ailmar admits. “That, too. Though it was a surprise to find a Savran with you.”

“It usually is,” Alex deflects, crossing his arms and resting a hip against a nearby table to keep some pressure off his leg. “Can Eliza be moved?”

“I do not see a reason to keep her down here. Her condition is stable and she will be more comfortable in the house.”

“Thank you,” Alex says.

Ailmar inclines his head.

 

_ _

 

The sky roars like falling bombs. He can feel them echo in his ribcage as they impact with the earth—an echo from another life.

The fog breathes. The trees whisper. The shadows writhe. The wraith sings. The ground shakes.

He wakes up.

 

_ _

 

They get Eliza situated in one of the surprisingly spaciously upstairs bedroom. If Alex believed in such things, he would almost say that the house is bigger on the inside. Like magic.

Ailmar lines up potions on a ragged side table under Maria’s suspicious stare and instructs that Eliza drink one every six hours, for the pain and to provide other nutrients.

“Is there a chance we can get some real food?” Alex asks as Ailmar prepares to leave. They’ve all been living off the strange potions ever since they woke up and he’s dying to have something of substance. Something he can sink his teeth into.

“We do not have food that would be adequate for humans,” Ailmar explains with his usual patience. “Most likely, they would simply poison you.”

“There are supplies on our ship,” Alex presses. “If some of us can be allowed to retrieve them…”

“I will speak to the elders,” Ailmar decides and leaves. The door fades back to a wall behind him.

“What did he say about food?” Lee demands from his spot at the kitchen table.

Lafayette has taken to examining the strange patterns in the walls, convinced that they’re writing or a language of some kind, and he doesn’t look up from his work. B.U.R.R. is floating next to him, scanning, though he keeps insisting that there are no matches with anything in his database.

Likely they’re both just trying not to die of boredom.

“He’s going to speak to the elders,” Alex says dully.

Lee snorts and kicks his feet up on the table with a loud _thud._ Not wanting to sit and wallow in the storm cloud he’s projecting, Alex returns upstairs.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Maria says as Alex enters the room, holding up one of the potion vials to the light. “If we ever get out of the god-forsaken pit, I’m stealing some samples to take with me.”

Alex hums in tired agreement. Fortunately, Maria gets the hint and leaves them in peace, taking one of the vials with her for further examination.

Alex tugs off his boots and carefully climbs into bed next to Eliza. This one is the same size as the one in her quarters on the _Delaware,_ and it’s no longer a crowded, uncomfortable fit.

“Hey,” she says, turning to face him as settles under the coarse covers.

“Hey,” he echoes, brushing some hair off her forehead. “Are you okay?” She frowns and he shifts closer. “Honest answer.”

“Honest answer: this all feels like a weird nightmare,” she says, taking his hand. “I keep expecting to wake up on the ship and have everything be … _normal_ again. Or … as close as we ever get to it.”

Alex thinks of the wraith and the bleeding trees and shivers. “I know what you mean.”

“Where did they take you?”

He tells her. It feels strange, talking about John when he never has before. John’s always belonged in a place moved on from—too dangerous to revisit for long. John’s an echo, an ache, impossible to quantify, though he thinks that Eliza has always suspected that. He describes the ruins and the rebels and doesn’t mention the way John held him or the crack of desperation in his voice when he talked about thinking Alex dead.

He leaves out his own guilt, too, that still sits heavy inside of him at the empty space where her leg should be.

When he’s finished, Eliza chews on her lip in contemplation. “Do you think they’re going to let us go?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “Probably not.”

“So shouldn’t we be fighting back?”

“With what army?” he asks. “We’re helplessly outnumbered, injured, and have no means of escape. We just have to … persuade them. If we can. That we don’t mean any harm.”

Eliza sighs. “You’re right.”

“We’ll make it out,” Alex says, squeezing her hand. “We’re not dying in a fucking swamp.”

Eliza laughs at that and leans forward to kiss him. He sinks into it, reveling in the feel of her mouth against his and unable to remember the last time they kissed. It feels like a lifetime ago.

“Amen to that,” Eliza says when she pulls back.

“Get some sleep,” Alex tells her, combing fingers through her long hair. “I’ll be here.”

“All I’ve done is sleep,” she grumbles, but her eyes are drifting closed.

He waits until her breathing has evened out before he allows himself to follow her, wondering what might be waiting in his dreams.

 

_ _

 

The fog breathes. The trees whisper. The shadows writhe. The wraith sings ( _dying, dying, dyyinnggg)_. The ground shakes.

He wakes up.

 

_ _

 

They all gradually start to go stir crazy. Alex tries to mark the days by etching lines into the wall of the kitchen, but the house erases them as soon as he finishes. He still estimates that they’ve been in the house for a week and a half and captured for three. Is the station worried? They’ve missed three check ins, surely that’s cause for alarm? Will they send out a search party?

His stomach twists at the thought of another ship sharing their fate, but he can’t think of any way to warn them.

Eliza sleeps and sleeps. Lafayette and B.U.R.R. study the walls. Lee paces and sulks and paces and sulks. Maria tests vials from Ailmar in the strange sink that fills with water when you put your hands in it but has no discernable source.

Ailmar stops to by to visit every day with new potions and manages to dodge all of Alex’s questions.

“You can’t keep us locked in here forever,” Alex snaps at the start of week two. “Eventually others will come looking for us.”

“The elders are still deliberating,” Ailmar says patiently.

“For _two weeks?”_

“We have never dealt with something like this before.”

“Then just let us go.”

Ailmar gives him a flat look. “You must understand why we cannot.”

“Have we ever presented any threat?” Alex presses. “You observed us for weeks before capturing us. Did we cause any kind of violence?”

“Would _you_ let us go?” Ailmar asks, pointed.

“No,” Alex admits after a long moment. “I wouldn’t.”

Ailmar nods, expression softening. “You must simply give it time, Alexander Hamilton.”

“We are not a patient species,” Alex says wryly.

The corner of Ailmar’s mouth quirks in what might be a smile. “I have noticed.”

When he leaves, Lee comes into the room on one of his pacing trips throughout the house and stops, expression twisted into a grimace that means he overheard most of the conversation. “Was that supposed to be a negotiation?”

“Shut up,” Alex says wearily.

“You’re becoming pretty close to them,” Lee says, accusation creeping into his voice. “What are you telling them?”

“Just shut up,” Alex repeats. “I’m not doing this with you.”

Lee glares, fingers twitching at his sides. Alex wonders, almost absently, if Lee is planning on hitting him. It would be almost nice to have a different part of his body to focus on instead of his constantly aching leg and side.

But Lee bares his teeth and stalks away. He tries to slam the door shut behind him, but it refuses to budge, forcing him to do battle with it for several glorious seconds before giving up with a snarl of frustration.

“Thank you,” Alex whispers to the ceiling, putting a hand over his mouth to hide his smile.  

As least the house hates Lee, too.

 

_ _

 

He wakes up, he wakes up, he wakes up.

_(But is he really sleeping?)_

 

_ _

 

Today, something is different. Alex can read it in the stiffness of Ailmar’s shoulders and the furrow of his high brow.

Well, that and the two guards flanking him.

“You are to come with us,” he says to Alex.

Lafayette and Maria look up from the table.

“What’s going on?” Maria demands.

“They want me to come with them,” Alex says.

Lafayette stands to his impressive height, crossing his arms over his narrow chest so his claws are on full display. “Why?”

“Why?” Alex repeats to Ailmar.

“We have a communication.”

“From the rebels?”

Ailmar inclines his head.

“ _Alex,”_ Maria says, impatient.

“It’ll be okay.”

The guards take ahold of his arms. Lafayette bares his teeth. It’s a terrifying sight and Alex has to fight off the shiver that wants to run down his spine. Even the guards pause.

“Lafayette,” Alex says, carefully keeping the tremble from his voice. “I’ll be fine.”

Lafayette slowly relaxes. “They had better return you unharmed.”

No translator is needed for the threat in his voice.

“They will.”

The guards lead him from the room and across the open space towards another building, sitting next to the entrance to the caverns. It’s made of the same wood as the house and covered in the same strange patterns. The room he’s ushered into is empty except for a glowing purple light in the center and Aurebesh.

“What’s going on?” Alex asks, eyeing the light warily. So far everything glowing on this world has been awful.

“Please step into the light,” Aurebesh says. His voice gives nothing away.

“Why?” Alex asks and gets a shove forward from one of the guards in response.

He tells himself to relax. That they most likely won’t torture him after promising him that he would remain unharmed.

He still holds his breath when he steps into the light. It expands outward into a large dome that covers half the room and it’s cool when it touches his skin. But that isn’t the most incredible thing about it. He blinks and John is standing in front of him.

John’s mouth parts in surprise. “Alexander?”

Alex reaches out on instinct, but his hand passes straight through John’s face. It must be a projection field of some kind.

He doesn’t know what to do with the twisting in his stomach, so he ignores it.

“Wow,” John murmurs, dropping his own hand. “Okay.”

“What is it?” Alex asks, aware of the other’s eyes on them. He has no idea if they can hear or see inside the field, but he wants to take as few chances as possible.

John glances to his left and also schools his features into a mask. It’s similar to the one he wore right after they ended. Those six terrible months when they could barely even look at each other.

“It’s Washington. He’s getting worse and none of us can figure out why. There are no visible injuries, but we don’t have the equipment at the camp to assess him properly. We need to go back to the ship … and we need Maria.”

Alex curls his fingers into a fist to stop their trembling. “Okay. Okay, I’ll make that happen.”

“Please,” John whispers, expression cracking open briefly before he wrestles it back under control. That, too, scrapes rough against Alex’s ribs. “Contact me as soon as you can.”

John flickers out like an old television turning off and Alex steps out of the purple field, watching it condense back down into a glowing orb.

“Well?” Aurebesh demands, confirming that they couldn’t hear the conversation.

Strange, that they were trusted with so much. Maybe Aurebesh and the others have rightly assessed that none of the crew stand much of a chance of escape.

“Our captain is dying,” Alex explains, flat. “The rebels are taking him back to our ship, but we need to send the doctor. She’s imprisoned here.”

“Absolutely not,” Aurebesh snaps immediately.

“Please,” Alex whispers. Considers getting on his knees. Would they understand the gesture? “You can’t let him die.”

“It is too dangerous. The rebels are fools to do this.”

“They won’t try anything,” Alex argues. “None of us have tried anything since you brought us here.” An idea sparks to the forefront of his mind. “Use me. As collateral. If … if they try to escape or revolt, you kill me.”

Aurebesh’s eyes widen and Alex feels a vicious thrum of satisfaction at throwing him off guard. “You would make such a sacrifice?”

“Yes.”

It’s stopped becoming a question, though he doesn’t know when. Perhaps it should scare him, but it’s been a long time since he’s had something worth dying for.

“It would not be a quick death,” Aurebesh warns.

“I understand.”

Aurebesh pauses. “I will bring this before the rest of the council.”

Alex is led back to the strange, shifting house. All the others except Eliza are gathered around the big table and everyone stands as soon as the door seals shut behind him, even Lee.

“Well?” Maria demands.

Alex feels suddenly exhausted and overwhelmed. He ignores her as he stumbles over to the sink and plunges his hands in. Scoops out several mouthfuls of clear, sharp water and then several more to wipe his forehead and neck. He still can’t tie his goddamn hair up. He needs to ask about that.

“Washington is dying,” he says, staring out the window at the lights in the distance and not his pale, faded reflection.

When was the last time any of them saw the sun?

“ _What?”_ Lafayette snaps. A chair creaks in his grip.

“They’re taking him back to the ship. They need Maria.”

“Are they willing to send me?”

“Unlikely,” Lee snorts. Lafayette glares at him. He shrinks in his seat.

“I think I’ve negotiated a deal.”

Now Lafayette’s luminous gaze is pinned on him. “What deal?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Alex—” Maria tries.

“It doesn’t matter,” Alex snaps, slumping into the chair at the end of the table.

“Which means you’ve done something stupid,” B.U.R.R. surmises.

“Let it go,” Alex insists and B.U.R.R. floats away with a huff.

He’s so tired. He just wants to sleep.

 

_ _

 

He wakes up.

 

_ _

 

Ailmar and the guards come for him at dawn. He’s ushered back into the communication room where Aurebesh lays out the terms. Maria will be allowed back to the ship indefinitely, accompanied by guards. Alex and the others are to remain here. If anything goes wrong—if any of the rebels or Alex’s crew try to revolt or escape, Alex will be executed. Publicly. Slowly. Painfully.

“I understand,” Alex says, voice dull and empty.

A slow and painful death has never scared him. Not when for so many years, it felt like that was all life was.

John tries to touch his face when he appears inside the purple field. Alex only feels a brush of frigid air when John’s fingers pass through his cheek. He doesn’t think of wraiths or fog.

“Alexander,” John says quietly, and Alex hates and loves how his name sounds leaving John’s mouth. “What did they say?”

Alex takes a deep breath. This time, Aurebesh is standing at the edge of the field, apparently within hearing range but out of view. He’s been given words that he’s meant to say—a stupid fucking script—and he doesn’t want to cause trouble by deterring.

“Maria will be sent to meet you at the ship, accompanied by two guards. She will remain on the ship under supervision for the duration of the captain’s needed treatment. No attempts to repair the ship will be made. No attempts to leave the planet will be made. No attempts to revolt will be made. If any of these things happen, or any other malicious intent is devised, I will be executed as recompense for the broken agreement.”

John starts, eyes widening. “What?”

Alex looks at the wall barely visible over John's shoulder. “The execution will be public and recorded. The manner of the execution will be determined in accordance to the severity of the violation. Do you understand?”

“No,” John snaps, predictably.  “They _can’t_ just—”

“They can,” Alex cuts in, steel laced through his voice. “They _will.”_ He finally looks at John, takes in the horror and desperation written all over John’s face. “So, please…” His voice drops to a whisper, stripped raw in a way he can’t help or prevent. “…don’t make me die for you.”

John’s gaze goes soft in return. “Alexander…”

“Do you understand the terms?” Alex asks, unable to bear whatever John might say, unable to allow Aurebesh and the others to hear it.

John takes a deep breath and draws himself up. Nods. “I understand.”

“Good.”

A voice echoes from John’s left. “I have to go,” he says. “We’ll meet Maria at the ship.”

Alex nods and watches him flicker out again, heart somewhere in his throat.

Back at the house, he forces his aching leg up the stairs and crawls into bed with Eliza, burying his face in her neck—in need of comfort and flayed open in a way he so rarely allows himself to be.

“What did you offer them?” Eliza asks, stroking his hair.

“My life,” he whispers in reply, because he’s never been able to lie to her.

Her hand stills.

He lifts his head and tries to smile. “Not that big of a price, right?”

“Don’t say that,” she insists. Her eyes are wet. “Don’t you dare say that. You’re not dying in a fucking swamp, remember?”

“Then we’d better hope John doesn’t do anything stupid.”

Eliza laughs, jagged, and clings to him. Like she’s afraid he might disappear.

He wonders if she’s right. If those fears are grounded.

And that if he were to disappear, where would it be to?

 

_ _

 

The wraith floats through the trees. Tonight, it looks like Eliza—long hair billowing out around its head like it's drifting underwater. The air feels too heavy for his lungs. Beneath his feet, he can hear the roar of the earth. Or is it the sky? The trees?

Perhaps the whole planet is screaming.

Purple vines sway to the tune of the wind. There is water in the grove tonight, as black as the liquid from the trees. Fathomless. The wraith hovers. For a moment, it’s his mother. Another blink and it’s John. Then Eliza again.

 _Dyyyinngg,_ it whisper-sings like it always does.

The water ripples. Alex can feel it rising.

“What do you want from me?”

 _Salvaaattionnn,_ the wraith murmurs. Or perhaps it is the wind sighing. Or the trees whispering.

The water is rising.

“You want me to save you?”

Rising.

_Salvaationnn._

Rising.

“ _How?”_

The wraith lifts a ghostly hand.

Alex drowns.

And wakes up.

It takes him a moment to register his surroundings. He’s _outside,_ standing a few feet in front of the house.

How?

He turns in a slow circle, but all he can see are the ever-present lights in the gloom. Like far-off firelies.

And Ailmar, emerging from the shadows.

“The house let you out,” he observes. He doesn’t sound particularly concerned.

“Wasn’t it not supposed to do that?” Alex asks and shivers. He apparently didn’t think to bring his cloak before going on his nightly excursion.

At least he isn’t standing chest-deep in a swamp.

“Yes,” Ailmar says. “But we can only control so much.”

“So the house is sentient?” Alex asks, though he’s come to suspect the answer.

“Most things are,” Ailmar says, stopping next to him.

Alex glances around at the trees. “Do you know what’s happening?”

“To the trees?”

“Yes.”

Ailmar sighs. “We have our suspicions. But you are an outsider. They are not for you to know.”

“I think your planet is dying,” Alex says bluntly. He has no idea how to explain the dreams or the wraith or if Ailmar would even believe him if he tried.

“All things die,” Ailmar says mildly. “Even stars burn out.”

“So you don’t care?” Alex asks in disbelief.

Ailmar levels him with a disapproving frown. “I did not say that. Of course, we care. But there are some things that cannot be fixed. Or changed. Death is usually one of them.”

“That doesn’t mean you give up,” Alex argues.

Ailmar tilts his head, considering. Alex gets the sudden, distinct impression that he is being peered into and tries not to flinch. “No,” Ailmar says at last. “Perhaps not. But you had best return to the house before a patrol sees you.”

Alex nods. Ailmar folds his hands into his sleeves and waits.

So much for that, then.

With a final deep breath of fresh air, Alex turns around and limps back inside, listening to the door seal up behind him.

“Why did you let me out?” he whispers.

The house is silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are AMAZING and always deeply appreciated. Or come hit me up on tumblr at [wobblyspelling](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com). 
> 
> P.S. I am going to attempt NaNoWriMo this month (God help me) and so will be disappearing into original story land for most of November. I'm hoping to eke out one last update before then, but if I don't manage that, I'll see y'all in December! 
> 
> <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Or anyone that might be left. This is not a proper update, I'm sorry. I'm afraid that since October of last year, I've mostly left the Hamilton fandom and no longer have inspiration for this fic. It was meant to be a long, sprawling epic, and I just don't have the energy to finish it anymore. 
> 
> However, due the request of a lovely person, I decided to post my outline as a final chapter. This way, anyone who might be interested can at least where the plot was going and what the story would have been. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this story and left comments and kudos and supported me. Y'all are awesome, truly. <3

**PART IV: THE TRAITORS**

  * Washington is taken back to the ship and Maria is sent by guards to meet him there. Treatment, however, is elusive. The captain is in some kind of coma and Maria can’t revive him. She worries that he’s dying, and urges Alex to find a way to convince the native population to let them repair the ship. Alex continues to build his friendship with Aurebesh, trying to learn more about the brewing civil war and why Aurebesh’s people are so afraid of letting the crew of the _Delaware_ leave.


  * Aurebesh eventually reveals that the conflict is about the future of their species. Laws have been put in place to protect the population from horrible things that happened in the past, but the rebel faction wants these laws removed. They believe that the council is keeping secrets from them - secrets that could advance them as a species, like technology and space travel.


  * “Are they right?” Alex asks and Aurebesh is silent.


  * Lafayette believes that if they can get the two sides to talk, perhaps they will be able to broker a peace agreement and be allowed to leave. Alex is dubious - something else is going on. Beneath the surface.


  * Through B.U.R.R., Alex gets a secret transmission from John: the rebel faction is willing to help them off planet. Alex just needs to get Eliza away from the council and back to the ship. Yulara and her people will provide protection after that. It’s a risky plan, an almost impossible plan. But the house is still letting Alex out at night, so maybe there is a chance. Why, though? Why is Yulara suddenly willing to help them. It’s the planet, John explains. Yulara believes that it’s dying and the council are doing nothing. She wants the _Delaware_ to alert the ISA about what’s happening. Maybe rescue crews can be sent.


  * Alex is still hesitant, but he wants off this god-forsaken planet. The dreams won’t stop and he’s losing more and more time. Okay, he decides. Okay, he’ll try.


  * Eliza is behind the plan 100%, tired of lying in a bed. She’s still recovering and she can’t walk, though, and Alex can’t carry her all the way to the ship. He _can_ carry her to the stables, though, so maybe if they can sneak out one of the birds, they’ll be able to ride it back to the ship. B.U.R.R. can guide them there.


  * Alex informs Lafayette and Lee of the plan. Lafayette is supportive and overrules Lee’s objections. They’ll make sure they cause enough of a distraction for Alex and Eliza to get away safely.


  * Per Alex’s request, the house lets him out. Carrying Eliza on his back, he manages to sneak his way into the stables and saddle one of the birds. They get to the edge of the village before an alarm goes off, resulting in a desperate chase through the twisting swamps until they lose their pursuers.



 

**PART V: THE GRANDMASTER**

  * Alex and Eliza are three days from the crash site, according to B.U.R.R.’s calculations. With limited supplies and angry captors no doubt still looking for them. Eliza is determined to keep pushing forward. Alex is a botanist, right? Surely he can figure out what they’re all right to eat and what might posion them.


  * As they travel, they notice more and more blackened trees and infected water. Even some animals that look sick. It really does seem like the planet is dying, though Alex still has no idea what could be causing the infection. It’s like everything’s been … poisoned.


  * They have another close brush with a swamp monster and Alex’s dreams continue, concerning Eliza, but eventually they make it to the ship where John, Hercules, and Yulara are waiting. Maria is with Washington in the Med Bay and tells them that they’re running out of time.


  * Eliza gets to work, making herself a crude prosthetic leg first before starting on repairs. It shouldn’t take her too long, she thinks. Only a few days. Yulara promises to hold the council’s forces off until then. Alex is still nervous that this will break into open warfare, and worried for Lafayette (and Lee, a little) still in captivity. John is confident that they can make it. Once they have the ship repaired, they can launched a rescue mission for the others. As far as he can tell, they have more advanced weaponry than the native population, anyway.


  * Repairs on the ship continue. Tensions are high. The council hasn’t made a move yet, but it’s only a matter of time. And Alex has started to lose time during the day, too - gaps of minutes that are steadily expanding. He wakes up outside the ship at night, always facing north, and he doesn’t know what’s happening, but it’s starting to scare him. Starting to make him think he might be a danger to the others, if this continues. He contemplates leaving and starts putting a pack together in secret.


  * The council’s forces finally arrive, in much greater numbers than anticipated. A tense standoff enuses, with Yulara and the rebels using the ship’s weapons as a deterrent and the council forces trying to make them surrender without a fight.


  * Before violence breaks out, the grandmaster herself arrives and asks for a meeting with Alex. He agrees, in spite of John and Hercules’ protests, and goes to speak with the grandmaster in private.


  * They cannot leave, she tells Alex. Even if they repair the ship. There is an interference field in the planet’s atmosphere. It’s what made them crash in the first place. If they attempt to break through it, the same thing will happen again. Alex demands to know why she didn’t inform them of this sooner. Why all the secrecy? She admits that it is because she did not want the information to spread to the rebel forces and she wasn’t sure if she could trust Alex’s crew to keep quiet. She also didn’t want any more unnecessary death on her hands. Alex demands to know the truth about what’s happening to the planet - what the grandmaster is _really_ keeping from everyone. She promises to tell him, but only if he can get the rebels to stand down.


  * He goes back to the group and declares that they’ll be surrendering, much to John and Yulara’s fury. He insists that they can’t win, not in the long run, and he doesn’t want any unnecessary blood on their hands. Everyone is escorted back to the main village.



  


**PART VI: THE TRUTH**

  * The grandmaster, as promised, holds a meeting to explain things. She cannot tell them everything, she says, but enough to make them understand the situation. Long ago, their people were different. They were called the Istori and they walked among the stars. Lafayette recognizes the name and is shocked. They were conquerors, he explains, and their empire spanned most of the known galaxy. They were known for their ruthless methods, their brutal battle strategies, and their strength as warriors. Most other species didn’t stand a chance, include Lafayette’s, the Savrans.


  * The grandmaster explains that the source of their power was an ancient alien species - essentially a symbiotic parasite. It can grant its hosts power and even make a planet thrive, but it demands life in return. Lafayette recognizes this, too, and cannot believe that the Istori willingly forged a bond with such a creature. 


  * “We used to call them world eaters. Because they eventually consumed everything - every last drop of life - and left only barren devastation behind.”


  * The bond worked, the grandmaster reveals, because the Istori would sacrifice those that they had captured to satisfy the creature, which they simply referred to as the Source. But eventually, after several hundred years, their empire began to crumble. Rebellions sprung and persisted, in spite of ruthless oppression, and a war began that lasted decades and ended with the Istori retreating back to their own world in defeat - their empire in ruin.


  * Some members of that ancient council were horrified at the atrocities their people had committed and so vowed to conceal their history. As generations passed, it would be forgotten altogether except for members of the council, granted the burden of the truth and tasked with protecting it. Their advanced technology was buried, their starships destroyed, their record books purged. A barrier erected to prevent anyone from leaving the planet’s atmosphere and cloaking their presence from outsides.


  * But the Source still needed to be fed, and so for a time, out of desperation, the Istori sacrificed their own people instead. The elderly and the sick and the dying. Eventually, though, the current grandmaster got tired of all this death, so she tried to poison the Source. But it backfired and now the whole planet is dying. More than likely, the infection will soon spread to the Istori, as well.


  * But they cannot risk the Source escaping the planet. They’re all tied to it and if they were to leave, there is a chance that they would bring it with them, to infect other species and worlds. That is why, the grandmaster explains, they must remain on a dying world.


  * Yulara is furious at these revelations, as is John. “You would condemn your entire people to death on an assumption?” But Alex is more sympathetic to the grandmaster. Better to end everything here, for good, than risk the start of another terrible war. These ideological differences lead to a fight between Alex and John and a rift in the crew as everyone struggles to figure out what to do.


  * At the house that night, Alex is in the middle of washing something in the sink when he realizes that water has turned as black as the trees. Then everything goes dark.



  


**PART VII: THE DESCENT** ( _POV switch to John._ )  

  * John is awoken by a distressed B.U.R.R. who says that Alex is gone, along with a pack of supplies. A frantic search of the village is conducted but no one can find him. Then, B.U.R.R. mentions Alex’s nightmares and the fact that he’s been sleepwalking. Aurebesh speculates that the Source has been communicating with Alex. That even after being poisoned, it’s still retained enough sentience to try compelling people. And Alex was an easy target, considering his condition.


  * “Condition?” Eliza asks.


  * “The plague infecting his body,” Aurebesh answers. “And the fact that his mind is a still-bleeding wound.”


  * Potentially, Aurebesh speculates, the Source is going to try to get Alex to sacrifice himself to it, thus restoring it to its full power. They have to stop Alex before that happens. And destroy the Source once and for all. The crew of the _Delaware_ has more firepower than the Istori. They might be able to manage it.


  * Yulara is hesitant to go along with this, because destroying the Source might end up killing them all, but she understands the stakes and ultimately decides that she’s willing to set aside her anger at the council in order to stop the Source once and for all.


  * A plan is concocted: John, Lafayette, Hercules, B.U.R.R. and Jefferson, guided by Aurebesh, will descend into the ancient, underground city and find the heart of the Source. Along the way, they will also shut off the interference field in the atmosphere. After they’ve planted explosives, they’ll return to the surface and detonate them. Eliza and Peggy will be waiting with the _Delaware,_ allowing them to make a quick escape.


  * John is worried about the Istori, but the grandmaster says that they must leave their future up to fate. Eliza takes John aside, as well, after the meeting and confronts him about the love he still clearly holds for Alexander. She’s not angry, like he expected she would be. Just says, fierce: “You love him, right? So bring him back.”


  * He promises that he will. He _will._


  * And so, they begin the treacherous descent into the old city, having to navigate their way through dense jungle and complex ruins. The Source also knows they’re coming and is prepared to do anything to stop them.



  


**PART VIII: THE GUARDIANS**

  * Before they departed, the grandmaster warned them about the Guardians. Behemoths that were under the thrall of the Source and roam the old city, destroying any who dare to trespass. It isn’t long before John and company, on their way to shut off the atmospheric interference field, run into one.


  * A brief fight ensues and Hercules is injured, but they decide to press on. Through B.U.R.R. they learn that the village on the surface has been attacked by monsters, as well, but they’re holding their own, with the rest of the _Delaware_ crew's help, trying to buy time.


  * They manage to avoid several more guardians and make their way down, down, down into the old city, following Alex’s trail. When they finally locate him, he’s completely under the Source’s thrall. Aurebesh worries that destroying the Source might also kill Alex, which horrifies John, but Jefferson points out they have little choice. Too much is at stake.


  * They tie up Alex and knock him unconscious with a sedative, hoping it will keep him under long enough to make it back to the surface. Hercules offers to stay behind with him while the others head to the Source and plant the explosives.


  * More guardians show up, and it’s a fierce fight to the heart of the Source, located in a chamber at the center of the old city. All around it is dead vegetation. Even the ground beneath their feet has been stained black. The door sealing the entrance to the chamber is massive and carved in runes. Aurebesh speaks the password, given to him by the grandmaster, and it slowly rumbles open, allowing them entrance into the darkness.



 

**PART IX: THE SOURCE**

  * The Source is a massive pool of black energy and this close to it, all of them can feel compulsion pressing into their minds, urging them to sacrifice themselves. They steel themselves against it as they plant the explosives, aware of more guardians moving towards them from outside. Tendrils of the Source also try to reach out for them, but they are protected by their envirosuits.


  * Finally, the explosives are all in place. Aurebesh, as an Istori, is feeling the pull of the Source the most and John knows they have to get him away quickly so that he doesn’t give into the compulsion. He has Jefferson take Aurebesh back towards Alex and Hercules while he and B.U.R.R. check over everything one last time.


  * He’s afraid, he confesses to B.U.R.R. as they leave the chamber behind, that he’s going to lose Alex and get everyone killed. B.U.R.R. agrees that might happen, but logically this still seems like the right thing to do. It’s comforting, in a strange way.


  * Things go fairly smoothly until they reunite with the others. Then, they’re spotted by several guardians and forced to run for their lives, carrying a still-unconscious Alex on their backs. Aurebesh is wounded in the mad dash towards the surface, and insists that they leave him behind. He will draw the guardians away from them.


  * John gives him a flare gun and they all bid him an emotional good-bye. He vanishes into the jungle and they carry on, bowing their heads when they hear the crack of the flare going off and the guardians break away in the direction of the noise.


  * The surface is chaotic. The village has managed to hold back the monsters, but both the council forces and the rebels have suffered casualties. John is angry that they can’t stay and help fight, but the clock is ticking. As they reach the _Delaware_ and get Alex on board, John detonates the explosives in the city below, creating a shockwave that ripples through the planet, cracking the earth and toppling trees.


  * Maria urges him back on board and he presses his face to the window of the ship as they take off, watching the wave spread across the whole planet and Yulara raising her hand in farewell.


  * Then they’re breaching the atmosphere and his view is only the familiar the blur of stars.



 

**PART X: THE AFTERMATH**

  * It’s an agonizing two weeks back to Station 13. They inform a very relieved Angelica that they’re en route, but they’ve lost a good portion of the crew and Washington and Alex are both injured. Alex doesn’t wake up, and John and Eliza grow closer in their worry, taking turns haunting the med bay until Maria kicks them out.


  * Finally, they arrive and are subjected to a thorough debriefing while Eliza, Alex, and Washington are whisked to the medical wing for treatment. The surviving crew is given several months leave and Angelica promises to send a small team to investigate the planet and the fate of the Istori.


  * Alex and Washington recover slowly. Eliza builds herself a proper prosthetic. Her and John talk more, about themselves, about Alex. Lafayette composes an extensive report for his people. Maria and Peggy plan a much-needed vacation. Things settle, slowly. It turns out that there are Istori survivors and the ISA is working out an extraction plan. 


  * Eventually Alex is released from the medical wing and has a tearful reunion with Eliza. Washington commends the crew for their bravery and perseverance, putting in a request to grant Alex his old rank and position back. John and Alex finally sit down and talk. John confesses that Alex still means a lot to him, and he doesn’t want them to carry on like they have been. He doesn’t know what they’ll be in the future, but...


  * “Maybe we can start with friends?” he asks. Alex smiles.


  * “Friends, I can do that.”



 

**_FIN._ **


End file.
